Webb Odyssey Pas Duex
by Claire Vincent
Summary: In true JAG Genre, it is Clayton Webb's turn to find out what happened to his father, Neville.
1. Default Chapter

Webb Odyssey Pas Duex

Search for Neville

Outside the US Embassy

Tehran, Iran

November 4, 1979

The young photographer could not believe his luck. His heart was pounding. The mob was shouting in his ears, and he had never been so afraid in his life. Neither had he ever been more thrilled.

He was on the edge of the churning mob, across the street from the US Embassy. They had been here for days, chanting in English and Farsi, holding their signs, waving flags, and burning effigies of US President Carter, or Uncle Sam, or just Americans in general. He had taken pictures of all it. Some had turned out, and some had not, but he didn't care. He was here, now, while it was happening, and wasn't that what being a photographer was all about? One of these pictures was bound to capture something…unique and exciting and important. They just had to.

He had his large camera in the bag, slung over his shoulder. The feeling of the mob today was too scary; he didn't dare take it out. He had seen other photographers' cameras smashed to pieces by the mob before, if they found out they were a westerner, or if they got too close. He was using his smaller one instead. It had only black and white film, it was just his back up, but it seemed safer to him somehow, and he felt in his gut this was the better choice.

He was snapping away, at young men his age or younger, trying to make a difference in their lives, in their country. Zealots. He respected them for that at least. He didn't care about the why, or politics, or any of that, he didn't have time for it. He was trying to do his job.

As he clicked away at the mob, he did not notice the car that had pulled up close to the edge of the mob, without disturbing it. He did not see the two men who got out of the car, but made no move to leave the flimsy shelter of the car, as they looked at the shouting people, and the building behind the fence in front of them.

'How are we going to get in there?' the taller one asked.

His companion was watching the building too, and looked sideways at his partner in surprise. 'We are not going to get in there Neville. It is too late.'

'It may be too late, but we have to try. We have to help get the rest of them out.' Neville replied in a very determined voice.

The shorter man looked back at the building, clearly imagining the chaos inside. Then he again surveyed the mob outside the building in front of him, and looked doubtfully back at his partner.

'No Neville. It is too late. We have to get ourselves out….'

Neville interrupted him, 'Marty, we can't just walk away.'

'Do you have any idea what they would do to us if they caught us and found out who we are?' Marty shouted back. 'We can't do anything to help them inside any more. And this mob could storm the building at any moment!' he stopped abruptly here, looking around nervously to see if anyone had overheard him.

'They won't find out about us. We have to try.' Neville insisted.

But Marty shook his head, and pulled on the sleeve of his partner's jacket. 'We have to get ourselves out, Neville, before it is too late.' He paused, looking at the frustration in the face of his long time friend. 'Think of Porter and Clay. You owe it to them to get out while you can.'

At the mention of his family, whom Neville had not seen in a long time, he started to give in to Marty's suggestions. It had been too long since he had seen his wife and son, again. Neville relented. He knew there was not much he could do now anyway. He nodded reluctantly and let Marty guide him into the car.

Marty said, 'We will go home, and continue the fight from there. We are no good to anyone if we are captured.' He followed Neville into the back seat of the car, and told the drive to get moving.

'Where will we go? How will we get out?' Neville asked.

'We are going to Canada.' Marty said, and the car slowly made its way through the people in the street, away from the Embassy.

The young photographer did not notice the two men beside the car who were on the edge of his frame. He snapped the picture while they were looking at the building, before they re-entered the car, and the motor on his little camera began to whirl as the film began to rewind. The last shot.

He kept it in his hands until the motor stopped, looking over the scene one last time. He thought he had gotten some good shots. He hoped one would be good enough for publishing, maybe even a front page. Maybe there was one that would make a difference.

The mob seemed to be getting uglier, and larger. Better pack up, and get the hell out of Dodge, he thought to himself. While he still can. He moved away from the scene, tucking his camera into his bag, then he pulled it in front of his body, putting his arm protectively around it, and began moving down the street toward his hotel, and home.

Twenty-five years later,

Smithsonian Institute

Museum of American History

1103 hours local time

Clayton Webb slowly walked through the display of enlarged photos and newspaper articles the chronicled the Iranian Crisis. It was a special display the Museum had put together to mark the 25th Anniversary of the taking of the US Embassy in Tehran, and the Hostage Crisis.

The history buff in Clay was marginally interested in seeing this collection. It was really the history fanatic he was married to that had begged that they come and see it. It was a rainy cold Saturday, things had been slow in the office, and Amy had been cooped up all week indoors because of the late fall weather with the baby, and she insisted they get out and do something. Taking Claudia along in the stroller was not that hard, and it gave her a little change of scenery too. Since they couldn't walk and play in the park as they normally did, this seemed an easy second choice. Clay planned on taking his two girls out to lunch, and getting home in plenty of time for a nap. He smiled at himself inside, thinking how such a tiny person as his daughter can change his whole life and schedule. Home in time for naps indeed. But he didn't mind a bit, and wouldn't change a thing.

Amy was behind him a little way, reading almost every display completely. He looked back to check on her progress with the stroller, then moved on to the next picture.

It was a large blow up of a photograph he sort of recognized. It was rather famous, having been taken in front of the Embassy just a few minutes before the mob stormed in and took control of the building and the people remaining inside. It was the beginning of the hostage crisis.

Clay stood there, looking over the picture when something in the lower corner caught his eye. He moved closer, but since the photograph had been blow up for the display, the item only became more distorted. He stepped back instead and bumped into a low bench. He squinted his eyes; blinked a few times to try and clear them, but the image stayed the same.

It couldn't be, he thought. 'No, it can't be.' He whispered. Slowly he sat down on the bench, staring in disbelief at the photograph.

Amy came up beside him and looked at the photograph that seemed to have caught her husband's attention. Clay was staring intently at it, and did not seem to notice she was there beside him. She looked down at him, and saw that his face was completely white. 'Clay are you all right?' she asked. 'You look like you've seen a ghost. What is it?'

'I have.' He replied quietly. Then he blinked, and asked. 'Read the card beside the picture.'

'What?' Amy asked.

'Read the card. The card there, beside the picture!' he almost shouted.

'Ok.' And she moved to the wall and read the description of the photograph.

'Outside the US Embassy, November 4, 1979. Less than an hour before the take over.

Photographer: Malcolm Graham, _The London Seer_.

It first appeared in _The London Seer_ then was bought by the _Associated Press_ and appeared in newspapers around the world. Mr. Graham was awarded the _Times Circle Award for Outstanding Photo Reporting for 1979_ for this photograph.' Then she looked at Clay, who was still staring at the picture. 'Does that mean anything to you?' she asked.

'No.' Clay replied. 'I've never heard of him.'

Amy moved back to the bench, maneuvered the stroller to the side, and sat down beside Clay. 'What's the matter?' she asked. She was relieved to see that some color was coming back to his face, and he let out a big breath, as if he had not realized he had been holding it. Then he abruptly stood up.

'I have to get a copy of that photograph.' He said, and began looking around for a museum employee.

Amy stood up too, and tried to get his attention. 'Why? What is it about this photograph?'

Clay looked at Amy, 'He is in that photograph, right there.' He pointed. 'It puts him in Tehran 6 months before he died!' he said excitedly.

'Who Clay? You are not making any sense.' But Clay wasn't listening; he was looking all over for some employee. Where were they? Where was security when you needed them?

Amy gently grabbed his arms and made him look at her. 'Clay please explain to me what is going on here.'

'That's my father.' He moved over to the edge of the photograph and pointed to a fuzzy figure in the corner. 'That's him. He was there. I never knew what he had been working on, or where he was the last year of his life, it had all been sealed up. But that is him, and it puts him in Tehran when the Embassy was taken over, which was just 6 months before he was reported dead.' He said.

Amy couldn't quite believe it. She knew that Neville Webb's disappearance and death was a mystery to his family, but she was not sure the figure in the photograph could be exactly identified as Clay's father. She moved over to stand next to the photograph with him.

'Clay how can you be so sure? The picture is not very clear, it could be any one of 100 men.'

'It's him. I'm sure. I recognize the jacket, and the profile.' He looked at Amy. 'It sounds crazy. But if I can get a smaller copy, a clearer one, I could prove it to you.' He said.

'But Clay, that picture must have been printed a thousand times in newspapers and magazines, and history books. I recognize it myself, it is a famous picture. Why haven't you seen your father in it before?' Amy asked.

'Maybe this corner had been cut off. If you remember the picture so well, do you remember it covering this much area? Most of the time, isn't it just part of the mob, and the Embassy building and not the street?'

Amy looked again at photograph and thought maybe Clay had a point. She did remember seeing the picture before, but it had not included that much of the street, had it?

'I've got to find someone that can help me get a copy of this photograph. I've got to talk to a curator. Please Amy, I'm not crazy. I will prove it to you.'

Amy looked back at her husband, and knew she had to believe him. 'Ok, let's find the someone and ask for a copy.'

He smiled down at her, and the moved off to find the curator, or director or someone who could give them a copy of the photograph. As they started off, Clay thought that maybe he had just found the one piece that could help him find his out what had happened to his father. The one piece that could make the difference.


	2. Chapter 2

Webb Odyssey Pas Duex

Finding Neville

Author Claire Vincent

Chapter 2

Armed with this new lead, Clay redoubled his efforts to find more information about what had happened to his father in the last 6 months of his life. Using the Freedom of Information Act to the fullest and his new prestige at the Agency, he was able to gather several CIA classified files about the Iranian Crisis with out drawing attention. Since he now knew where to look, in a sense, he did not have to limit the requests for files using only his father's name, or the code name operations his father had worked on that were still sealed, and unavailable.

Clay had no delusions about finding his father still alive somewhere out there. Nor was there any secret hope that Clay may find a long lost sibling somewhere, like Harmon Rabb had. Clay was not that lucky, nor that idealistic.

He simply wanted some closure. He wanted to know. And he wanted to give this knowledge to his mother. She was getting older, and deserved to know what happened to the man she loved her whole life. Since Clay had married Amy, and started a family of his own, this above all had become more important.

After ordering, and waiting patiently for the wheels of government to turn and send him his requested documents, he decided to make two visits. He now knew what questions to ask, and had put off the difficult conversations long enough.

Porter Webb Residence

Great Falls, VA

1240 local time

Clay always looked forward to sharing lunch with his mother. But today was an exception. He slowly drove up the long drive to the door, and paused before getting out of the car. The questions and discussion he planned on having with his mother this afternoon may blow up in his face. The subject of what had happened to Neville was not one that he and Porter ever talked about. Clay knew it was painful for Porter to discuss, and he had never pushed it with her. But he was going to find the answers; he had to start here, with her.

He entered the house and was greeted by his Mother at the door with a kiss on the cheek.

'Hello Clayton. You're late.'

He kissed her back, smiling at her warm and stern greeting. 'Hello Mother. How are you?'

'Hungry.' She stated and turned and led the way into the dining room where lunch was already on the table. They ate and talked about everything and nothing. Porter wanted to know all the new things Claudia was doing. Amy and Porter visited at least once a week and Porter was able to visit with her granddaughter then and see for herself how she was growing, or so Clay told his mother.

Porter answered him, 'Babies change everyday Clayton. I want to know all the new things my granddaughter does when they happen.'

She suggested they take their coffee into the living room. Porter knew her son, and could tell there was something on his mind. She thought it was time to find out what had brought her son here for lunch out of the blue on a week day.

'What did you want to talk about Clayton?' she asked as they sat down facing each other on the couch.

Clay smiled, he should have known he could hide nothing from Porter. 'I wanted to talk about what may have happened to Father.' He stated simply.

Porter had not expected this, and was taken aback. 'Clayton, you know I was told very little about what happened to your Father. And what I know I told you. Why are you bringing this up now?'

'Over the years I have done a little digging, and found out a few things. I just want to try and put it all together.' Clay answered. He was not ready to share all the information he had with his mother yet. He had a good idea what her reaction would be, and did not what to begin that argument with her right now. Not until he had more information.

He was not going to get his wish however. His mother was a gracious, intelligent woman, and not much got by her, certainly not much that her son did. And, in the end, she was still a 'company' woman. She looked Clay in the eye and said, 'Clayton, let it go. We will be told everything when and if the information can not harm or implicate anyone.' Yes, a company woman to the end.

The subject was open now, he would have to talk about it. 'It has been 25 years Mother. And you don't need to repeat the company line for me, I know it well enough and have used it myself plenty of times. Who could it possibly hurt anymore? It is the Angel Shark all over again.' Clay stood up and started pacing the room. The whole situation made him madder each time he thought about it. 'No one could be hurt anymore in the agency, they just covered it up, and left it classified to cover their own mistake. I am not going to wait forty-odd years before I start demanding information. We don't have that kind of time.'

'Is that in reference to my advancing age, son?' Porter asked sarcastically? Clay turned and looked at her, but did not answer her. She was right and she knew it. 'Do you know I realized not very long ago that I have now been a widow longer than I was a wife? It was a sobering thought.'

Clay came back to the couch and took her hand. 'Don't you think, after all this time, and all the years this family has served this country, we deserve to know the truth?' Porter was starting to waver. Clay pressed on. 'This has always bothered me. And now that I am a father' he stopped here, not sure of how to go on. He looked down at their joined hands, 'I always knew he loved me, I just never appreciated how much, or what it really meant.' He looked back at Porter. 'I have always regretted that last Christmas together. I should have stayed home.'

'Clayton you were a good son, and your Father and I love you. We always have. Don't dwell on that last holiday. Neville never resented it.' With this confession, Porter saw how important it was for Clayton to find out the truth. Maybe it would allow him some peace, both of them some peace. She did not know how much they would ever know about the death of Neville, but there was a part of her that wanted to know the truth too. And she did have some truth to share with her son that she had kept back all these years.

'Clayton,' she began, 'there are a couple of things I never told you about your father's death.'

He looked at her, all attention. Porter continued, 'I was told in the usual way, two agents came to the house in February to say he was missing. They would not tell me where in the world he was missing, and this time I had no idea where he was. Sometimes he would tell me, or give me a hint of where he was going, but not this time.'

'Then you called me at Harvard and told me.' Clay remembered. Some of the pain of that day came back to him still.

'There was nothing you could do, Clayton. I do not regret encouraging you to stay at school.' Porter said. 'Standard Operating Procedure was followed again in April, when his body was found and he was pronounced dead. An agent and our minister came to the house to deliver the news.' She stopped here and looked at Clay in the eye. 'What I never told you was that the agent was Martin Armbruster, your Father's partner.' She waited for his reaction, and except for slight surprise that was in his eyes, he showed no emotion. Clay had never really liked his 'Uncle' Marty. Clay had resented him somehow, as the man who spent all the time with his Father and shared all his secrets, and Clay could never join their little club. All of Clay's anger and frustration at his Father and his job had never been directed at Neville, he was his Father whom he loved, but 'Uncle' Marty, well, he could be blamed for a lot of things.

'Martin was very helpful through it all, Clayton, and I am still to this day grateful for his support. What I never told you was that Martin told me how your Father died, and I never told you that part. I am sorry about that.' Porter said quietly.

'How did he die?' Clay asked. Not sure he really wanted to know, but had to.

'When he went missing, he had been captured and held hostage. He had been beaten, and tied up, but there were no other signs of torture, or so Marty said.' Porter took a breath here, to try and ease and choose her words carefully for the next part. 'They had executed him, Clayton, with two bullets to the head. When his body was found in a shallow grave much later, there was not much left of his face or head to identify

Clay kept his face neutral, though he was in turmoil inside. The hurt and loss were fresh again, as he watched his mother describe what he had never known.

'Marty identified him by the birth mark on his leg, and dental records that were made available and the remains were cremated and sent home, as your father had wished.' Porter looked carefully at her son, regretting having kept this information for so long, and also regretting telling him now. No one should have to know those kinds of details about the death of a loved Father.

'Clayton, please forgive me for not telling you before this. At first it was just too painful for me to talk about, and then…' she shrugged her shoulders, 'I didn't think you needed to know. Neville was dead, it really did not matter how.'

Clay was a little hurt that she had kept this secret for so long, but he understood her motives. All he could say was, 'I understand, Mother.'

'What will you do now, Clayton?' she asked.

'Find out all I can about what happened.' He answered coldly.

'Clayton, you don't have any…Your Father is dead, Clayton. I hope you don't think there was a mistake and he could be out there somewhere still?' she asked tentatively. She had no hope, and did not what to see her son chasing after ghosts.

'No, I am not that naïve, Mother.' He answered. 'I just want to know.'

'Clayton, don't do anything that could jeopardize your new position at the Agency. You have worked hard, and have a beautiful family now. Please, just let it rest. Let your Father rest.' She pleaded.

'I won't be able to rest until I know. And I am not going to do anything foolish Mother. You know me.' He said with a hint of a smile.

'Yes,' she replied. 'I do know you, that is what concerns me.'

The Road back to CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

1500 local time

Many things passed through Clay's mind as he drove back to the office that afternoon. What the last days of his Father's life had been like. He regretted again the last days he had spent with his Father when he was alive; that last Christmas, Clay's third year at Harvard. But he dismissed it, as he always had, he could not change the past.

What did he do now? He had requested more files from archives; some should be coming in soon. It was convenient that keeping an investigation open on certain terrorist groups included any country in the Middle East, including Iran. If he could put together some names, along with places Neville and Marty may have been working on all those years ago, …maybe he will find the answers.

The next step was simple. A visit to Uncle Marty.

Martin Armbruster Residence

Northern New York

1440 local time

Clay walked up the curved stone sidewalk to the A frame wood and stone house. Uncle Marty has not done too badly for himself, he thought. Modest, but nice.

He ran the bell, and could already see Marty coming to the door to greet him.

'Clay! God it's good to see you! Come in, come in.' Marty took his hand and shook it and kept hold of it as he lead him inside. 'You look great Clay. It's good to see you.' He said again. 'I'm so glad you called.'

Clay had called the day before with the story that he would be in the area on business, and could he stop by and say hello. Clay didn't tell him the visit was specifically to see him.

'Sit down; let me get you a drink.' Marty had been talking so fast that Clay had barely a chance to say anything. 'Thanks Marty. Just some Club Soda for me, I'm driving back to the airport right after this.' Clay didn't want to get into the fact that he was not much of a drinker anymore.

Marty waved his objection away, 'Oh that's not for a while yet, I'll just fix you a light one.' Clay watched as Marty mixed his drink, with a splash of water, and then poured a larger one, neat, for himself. He came over to the couch.

"When you called you said you have some questions you wanted to ask me.' Marty said innocently. He thought this day would come some time, and had prepared for it.

Clay accepted the drink, and set it down on the table in front of him, not tasting it. He watched himself do this, avoiding Marty's eyes as he began. 'I want to talk about what happened to my father.'

Marty sat back on the couch, still holding his drink, and looked intently at Clay. 'There is not too much to tell Clay.' He said, being honest but evasive.

'Mother told me finally how he was killed, and how you identified the body.'

'Yes, I did. Then I arranged for the cremation, as your father had wished, and brought the ashes home to you and your mother.'

'What country was my father in when he was killed? Do you know?'

'Clay, you know I can't talk about that.'

'I know all the excuses, Marty. And I'm sick of them.' Clay interrupted him. 'It's been 25 years. Everyone that may have been involved is surely retired or dead by now. I want to know. I want my mother to know what happened to her husband before she dies.'

'I know Clay. It must be very hard, but it is all classified, and I don't know that much anyway. I wasn't there.' He said soothingly.

'Why weren't you there? You were his partner after all.' Clay demanded. He didn't like the accusing tone he heard in his own voice, but it was too late to try and stop that now.

Marty was getting into dangerous territory. He didn't want to start to panic. He thought quickly that he was getting too old for this. 'Clay you know how partners work. They work the same assignment from different angles in the field, then come back together and review what they each find. Don't you think I haven't wished thousands of times I could have been there for your father?' Throw it back to him, that's right, that is how to play this game, Marty thought.

Clay recognized what Marty was doing, and had no defense. He knew Marty had cared for his father, and Clay did not want to blame him, he just wanted answers. He decided to play a few of his cards.

'I have done some research over the years. I have slowly found out a few things.' He looked up at Marty for a reaction. He only got a silent stare back, so he continued. 'I know you and my father were in Tehran 6 months before he died. You were there just before the US Embassy was taken over.'

A million questions flashed through Marty's mind at this statement, but he was careful not to show any surprise or emotion on his face. How close was Clay getting? Was the first and most important question in his mind. Then, how do I find out how close, without arousing any attention?

'What makes you so sure?' Marty asked.

Clay smiled to himself, he will neither confirm nor deny, Clay thought. 'Your picture was taken outside the Embassy hours before the take over. The photo is on display right now at the Smithsonian. It's a famous picture. Published everywhere, but you and my father had been cut off in the published photos. The whole slide is on display now, after all this time.'

'You sure it is us? There are always a lot of people in those…'

'I know a picture of my father when I see one, Marty. You were there weren't you?'

'It is not hard to figure we would be there. Your father and I were a good team, and Tehran was the hot bed of activity 25 years ago.'

So Marty was still going to evade answering the questions, Clay thought. What else should he have expected really? Marty had been one of the best, his life steeped in mystery, and cover up. How could Clay expect him to be any different, even with him? Still, it was frustrating; he just, for once, wanted a straight answer.

'I also found out that my father's code name was Knife, back then.' Clay offered. This was a test. Clay had come across this code name time and time again in the files he had reviewed and he wanted to find out if it could be a reference to his father. Marty had been swallowing the last of his drink as Clay said this, and was startled and started to cough, as if the drink had gone down the wrong way. Could have been just a coincidence, but Clay didn't think so. Marty had gotten up directly after this, and poured himself another drink. 'Knife?' he said with his back to Clay. 'No. Your father had a few code names over the years, but not that one, not his style.' Then Marty came back to the couch, composure restored. Not his style, hum? Clay thought.

Clay let that go by without comment and asked 'Did you work on trying to get the hostages out.'

'There were hundreds of people trying to get the hostages out at that time. It was top priority, those students were holding the whole country, and our government hostage! It was an embarrassment!' The heat and frustration of the time still came back to him after all these years. He pulled in the emotion and continued. 'Yes, Neville and I were part of a group working out ideas to solve the situation. We considered everything, no matter how silly, or far fetched it sounded. And I have just broken about 30 rules by telling you that.' Marty said, and took a sip from his drink. Maybe if I give him a little bit, he will be satisfied and leave, he thought

'You tried working with some different countries, didn't you? You traveled back and forth from Washington to points unknown.' Clay tried to lead him into the story; hopefully he will fill in some of the blanks.

'I have told you everything I can.' Marty insisted.

'Who will it hurt if you tell me more?' Clay demanded. This man knew it all, why wouldn't he talk to me, Clay thought.

'Clay, you have no idea. Are you sure you want to find the answers to all of this? Have you considered the answers may be harder to accept than just letting it lie?' Marty asked pointedly. 'Let it go Clay. Your father died in the line of duty, trying to free innocent Americans. He is revered in the Agency, and the government. Keep picking at this and you may hurt someone, and that someone may be you.' Marty said pointedly.

'What are you trying to tell me, Marty? What is so bad?' Clay asked.

'Leave it alone Clay. I heard you have a family of your own now. That you are working in the office, staying close to home. Be the father Neville always wanted to be. Go to the soccer games, and birthday parties, and let you family know you love them and that Grandpa Neville loved them too, and loved this country too. That ought to be enough.'

'It's because I am a father, and loved mine very much, that I have to find the truth.' Clay answered simply.

Marty leaned closely to Clay, elbows on his knees. 'Just be careful what you wish for Clay.' He said solemnly. 'You may get it.'

Clay stayed only a little longer, but the subject of his father was closed. He left with wishes from Marty that he would not be such a stranger, and call for a visit any time. Clay got in his rental car and headed home; with much less information than he had hoped for, but as much as he had expected to get. He at least had a good idea what Neville's code name had been, Knife. With that information, he may be able to gain access to more files. It could bump him up in the security line also. So, it was not a completely wasted trip.

Once Clay had left, Marty sat down and poured himself another drink, slowly watching the fire in the grate. The ghosts from the past started to crowd in, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. The voice was the same as it was 25 years ago…

January 17, 1980

74th day of the Hostage crisis

Office in CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

The office was dark, except for the lamp on the desk. It distorted the man's features, leaving most of his face in shadow. Marty knew the man behind the desk, but not very well. He was an under assistant director of something, he was young, but was moving up fast in the hierarchy of the Agency. The words that Marty had heard in reference to him was 'ruthless', and 'not to be crossed'. Marty wasn't sure why he had been asked to this meeting, and became more nervous when he saw he was the only invited guest.

'Please sit down Marty.' He said. It was a welcoming voice, but the air of an order was unmistakable.

Marty sat down in the offered chair and looked at the young man. It was his meeting; Marty would wait for him to make the first move. It didn't take long.

'Marty I represent a group of individuals who are interested in saving our country further embarrassment in Iran. It is imperative that we get our people out of there alive and unharmed. Don't you agree?'

This was the point that Marty had been working on every waking hour, and even some hours sleeping, for the past 3 months. He and Neville were working on a number of scenarios. At this point, no idea, however crazy, was a bad one.

'Yes, we need to get them out, as soon as possible.' Marty simply answered.

'But it needs to be handled correctly. Each side must feel they have come away the winners, don't you think?'

While he made his statements and asked his questions, his expression didn't change. It was reserved and direct, and gave nothing away.

'The United States has to come out the winners. I don't really care what happens to the Iranians.' Marty paused here. 'But I suppose we have to give them something to get our people out safely.' Marty answered. It felt good to boil the whole problem down to these simple statements. It seemed to make the goal clearer and easier somehow.

'Good.' He said. 'I thought you would understand. Our little group is working on a way to achieve our goals, and make a stronger and better America in the long run. But we need your help Marty. Will you help us?'

'Of course. I have been working on this for months and I want to see it through to the end. Neville and I are working closely…'

'Mr. Webb is not invited to our little group, Marty. We only need you.'

There was silence while Marty thought about this. Neville was the senior agent on this one. He had been Marty's partner for years, was his best friend. His mouth went dry and he didn't know what to say. Turns out he didn't have to say anything.

'We want you because we think you understand our situation better. We need your connections, and expertise in this, but only you, Marty. You will continue to work with Mr. Webb, and keep me up to date with your plans. But, you will also work to forward our plans in tandem. It is possible that between the two groups we will be able to solve this crisis to everyone's benefit. And your involvement with us will not go unnoticed, I assure you. Our little group is willing to pay you beyond you usual Company salary for you help. A bonus if you will.' Here, for the first time in the meeting, the young man's expression changed slightly with a smile, maybe not so much a smile as a slight turning up of one side of his mouth. Marty thought this was as close as he got to a smile.

The implication was not lost on Marty. He had been an agent long enough to understand an outside operation when he saw one. He had offers before, but had turned them down. This was different. The CIA and state department was getting no where, and each day that went by, and was faithfully counted down on the news each night seemed like a personal slap in the face to him, and he was getting tired of it. If this little group could help, why not let them in? They all wanted the same thing in the end right? The safe return of the hostages. A stronger America and a bonus for him were just icing.

'How can I help?' Marty asked.

Martin Armbruster home

Northern New York

1600 local time.

Marty downed what was left of his drink. 'How can I help?' he snorted. With that little phrase, all those years ago, he had sold his soul.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Webb Odyssey Pas Deux

Thanks to all who reviewed my humble story, you know who you are. I appreciate your support.

CLASSIFIED

FILE # 4844058843

Case: Code Name: FLYING EAGLE

Authority code name: KNIFE

Continuing case notes on possible evacuation

Entry 1

Continued reconnaissance on student group through friendly foreign agents. Meeting sent up by our associate 'Sam' to meet with student contact: Haveet. Photo enclosed. Set to meet at local public café in…..

Entry 25

Six days later

Made contact with Haveet. He represents faction interested in negotiation a release, said he has the backing of the student leaders and intimated support of the governing council, but would not give any names. Set up next possible time to meet…..

Clayton Webb's office

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

1820 local time

Clay sat reading one of the files from the stack on his desk. Since talking with Marty Armbruster and finding out for sure his father's code name at the time was Knife, Clay had been able to use this name to gain clearance to obtain the next level of classified files. After days of doing his own work and looking at these old files of his father's they had all begun to look and sound alike.

Until this one. The name Haveet, where had he seen that name before? There was only the one name, and Clay did not know if it was a first or last name, or even just some code name. He would have to ask Amy about it; maybe in Farsi it isn't a name at all but translates as 'shoe' or something and therefore was a code name. Still, it sounded familiar.

Clay shuffled through the other papers from the folder, wasn't there a picture mentioned? When he found it, it was an old black and white photo, taken of a young middle-eastern man from a few steps away, obviously from a hidden camera. It was not very clear, but you could still make out the features. Nothing really remarkable about the face, just a young student. But the face and the name still nagged at him.

Clay decided he needed to stretch his legs, and clear his mind a little, and would go get a cup of coffee. He walked down the corridor on the way to the cafeteria and passed the wall of pictures of the United States most wanted Terrorists. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the picture. Same eyes, same high cheek bones, older but the same man. The name underneath read: Kavil Ali Haveet Moumdee.

Clay could not believe his luck. It had to be the same man, the age seemed right, the name and face, the face was too close to be a mistake. And even better, there was a red X through the face. This particular terrorist was caught already, and has spent the last year as a guest of the federal prison in Leavenworth, KS

Clay ran back to his office and began checking through the database of terrorists. He scanned in the old picture from Neville's case file, and compared it with the prison photo of Moumdee. They were a perfect match. Clay smiled to himself, leaning back in his desk chair staring at the two photos on his laptop screen.

The next link in the chain, he thought to himself.

An Executive Office Suite

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

2016 Local time

It was rather tedious to look over the lists each day of the highly classified files that were requested from archives. He had made it part of his everyday routine however. It had paid off several times to see what was going out, and to whom. He couldn't block what files were made available all the time, but he could block further requests for files of the same subject or case if the research seemed to be digging too deep. One person he was keeping a close eye on these days was Clayton Webb. And it wasn't only for what files Mr. Webb was requesting.

And here was another request for files from Webb; a new case name, and code name. The threads for Mr. Webb were starting to come together at an alarming rate. Something needed to be done.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. This was a secured line, the idea being no one could listen in from outside, but that did not include anyone inside CIA HQ. He would keep it short. The person he was calling was used to his short conversations by now. He would understand.

After the third ring, the phone was answered. 'Hello.'

'I thought you had a talk with him when he came to see you. You gave something away. He is checking out other files with a name that he should not even know exists.'

The voice on the phone immediately became apologetic. 'I'm sure I gave him no new information. I discouraged him as best I could without drawing any more attention to myself or past cases.'

'Well, he is on to something.' The Executive said, thinking. He could not let this go any further. 'We will have to use more drastic measures to make him stop his research.' He paused here, making a decision. 'Go ahead with the pictures we discussed.'

'I don't think we have to go that far….' The voice hated the thought of what this man had planned.

'We cannot let him get any closer, or find anymore answers. It would mean both our necks, and you know it.' The Executive insisted.

The man on the other end of the phone knew he was right. 'All right. I will get right on it.' He said reluctantly.

'Good.' Was all the Executive said, then he hung up the phone.

Twenty-four hours later

CIA Headquarters,

Parking ramp

Langley, VA

2024 local time

Why were parking ramps always wet? Clay wondered to himself as he stepped over anther puddle on his way to his car.

The ramp was more than half empty; it was almost 8:30 pm after all. Most sane people were home, as he should be. He just had a little more paper work he had wanted to finish, then a little more after that, and now look at the time. He had missed bath and bed time with Claudia again. He really had to stop doing that, he told himself for the hundredth time.

He got close to his car and dug out his keys from his coat pocket, pushing the automatic door opener and watching the inside lights go on. As he approached the vehicle, he saw a large brown envelope stuck on the windshield held on by the wiper.

Clay stepped beside the car, and paused, wondering about a booby trap. CIA Headquarters was the third most secure place on the planet, behind the White House, Capitol, and maybe the Pentagon. Fourth most secure place then. A light envelope like this could hardly be a trigger. But someone, someone from the inside, had placed it on his windshield. Could be some information on one of the classified files he had requested on his father. With this in mind, he opened the envelope.

His heart always skipped a beat when he was opening information about his father these days. It completely stopped, then started racing as he looked at black and white 8X10 photos of Amy and Claudia in the park. I looked like they had been taken today Clay remembered Amy was wearing that blue pull over sweater when he left this morning.

They were sitting on a park bench, with people walking on the sidewalk behind them. Amy was sitting there with a big smile on her face, and had the baby in her lap, enjoying the sunshine. As he flipped through the pictures, all from varying distances a voice came from the shadows.

'Nice family, Webb.'

Clay dropped one of the pictures at the sound, and looked around into the gloom of the parking ramp shadows.

'Hate to see anything bad happen to them.' The voice said.

He couldn't see anyone; the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, as it bounced off the cement walls and floor.

'Where are they, what have you done?' Clay demanded. He was relieved his voice sounded stronger than he felt at the moment.

'Quit asking questions, Webb. Stop the research. The past is past, and the answers could hurt more than you think.'

This statement made Clay's blood run cold. The voice was vague, but the meaning was clear. Stop digging or else something will happen to your family. They are easy to get too; maybe we have them already.

Clay looked at the pictures again, he could almost hear Amy's voice as she talked to the baby, and Claudia's gurgled response. Then he heard a car door slam and a car screech out of the ramp. He saw some headlights on the other side of the ramp, but could not make out the make or license plate of the car.

He had to move. He picked up the photo he had dropped, and grabbed the car door. He was starting the engine and putting the vehicle in gear before he had closed the door behind him.

He raced out of the ramp, but not knowing what car to follow, he didn't know which way to go. Whoever the voice was, they were long gone now.

Clay leaned over and opened his glove compartment, and took out the loaded revolver he kept there; the just-in-case weapon. He left it on his lap, within easy reach and turned his car toward home.

Clayton Webb Residence

Alexandria, VA

2103 local time

At this hour, there was not much traffic. Clay still made it home in record time. It had been the longest drive of his life. He kept calling the house number from his car phone, and Amy's cell phone, but neither was answered. He always heard her bright voice over the earpiece, 'Sorry we can't take your call now, please leave a message.' He begged her to pick up the phones, shouting into the answering machine, but she wasn't there. No one was there.

Where could they be? The baby was usually in bed by now. Amy was very strict about bed time. He racked his brain, trying to remember if she had told him about any special plans she had for this evening, but he couldn't think straight.

'Oh, God. Please.' He kept praying. As he got closer to the house, his heart raced faster.

When he pulled into the drive, everything looked quiet. The lights that were on timers in the front room were on, the upstairs was dark. Clay took a moment in the car, to pull his agent experience around him. He couldn't go racing inside, weapon blazing. He had to find out what the situation was. They may be there, may be held hostage. May be they were gone. God, what would he do then?

He got his emotions under control; his heart slowed down by shear will, and thought about the best approach to the house. He got out of the car, and decided to circle the building, see if there was anything out of the ordinary. He completed his circle, weapon at the ready, but everything looked quiet.

He went in the front door, which is usual. Amy almost always met him at the door when he was late like this. She would be watching for him. She was nowhere in sight. The house was quiet and dark, except in the front room with the automatic lights. This time of night, she would be upstairs he thought, but walked through the hall to the kitchen, then back out to his office, and the family room. Every room was dark, and empty. His heart was picking up speed again, but he was able to keep his mind clear, concentrating on signs or noises that would be out of place.

He turned and made his way slowly up the staircase, the hall was dark. Amy left the light on in the evening, in case the baby woke up. He was usually the one to turn it off when he came to bed. Clay left it off now, didn't want to give away his presence if… but he didn't want to think about that. He pushed open the door to the master suite with the weapon pointing first. His eyes were adjusted to the dim light, and could he could see the bed was empty. It was still made up from this morning.

Clay swallowed the cold lump that had formed in his throat, and moved down the hall toward the nursery. The door was open only a crack, and he pushed it open wider, ready to shoot, and saw her.

She was sitting slumped in the big rocking chair, a blanket draped over her lap, her dressing gown wrapped around her. Her mouth was slightly open in sleep and he could hear her breathing. He glanced to the crib beside her, and there was his beautiful daughter, her lips making suckling sounds in her sleep. He brought his weapon down and let go of the breath he had been holding since entering the house.

He slumped over, sighing in relief, putting his hands on his knees until he felt the shaking subside.

'Clay!' his sigh had woke up Amy with a start. Her voice woke up Claudia, who began crying at the noise.

Clay rushed over and picked up his squirming screaming daughter. He wanted nothing more than to that to hold right now anyway. 'Shhh, it's all right.' He crooned. 'Daddy's here, it's all right now.' He held her tight against his chest, trying to comfort her, calm her. Just having her squirming in his arms was comfort for him.

Amy stood up slowly, looking a little pale in the soft light of the room. 'Clay,' she said softly. 'Give me your weapon or our daughter.' Her voice was shaking, but very serious. Clay had completely forgotten he was still holding a loaded revolver. Not a good thing to have in his hands while holding the baby. With a flick of his thumb, he put the safety on, and another twist of a couple of fingers, the clip of bullets thumbed quietly to the carpeted floor. He spun the handle around and gave it to his wife. Then he moved over to the small couch and sat down still holding Claudia, who had by now, quieted down. She was still wide eyed, and clinging to Daddy, sucking her tiny thumb for all it was worth.

Clay watched Amy take the revolver, and pick the clip off the floor and set them on the dresser. Then she turned. He could tell she was trying to calm herself down. Must have been a shock for her too, seeing her husband come in with gun drawn and loaded. She stood in front of him, and asked evenly. 'You ok?' he nodded his head. 'Why don't you give her to me, I will put her down again. I will be downstairs in a few minutes.' He interpreted this to really mean, 'Give her to me, and I will see you downstairs where I expect a full explanation for this.' Amazing how effectively married couples communicated, Clay thought as he handed Claudia back to her mother. He was being given a few minutes to collect himself before she came downstairs and let him have it. He would need the few minutes, and she would need to understand what he was doing was the best for all of them.

He left the nursery, went downstairs to the kitchen to get something to eat; and to wait for Amy. She didn't keep him waiting long. She was mad, and scared, and she was determined to get some answers.

Amy came into the kitchen and saw Clay sitting at the table, with an apple in his hand. He had not yet taken a bite out of it; he was just staring at it as it rolled back and forth between his hands. The color had returned to his face since she had first seen him, gun drawn and pointing around the nursery a few minutes ago. She moved to the fridge and pulled out the jug of milk. She grabbed a glass and poured some out as she asked, 'You ok now?'

'Yeah.' He answered, not taking his eyes off the apple.

Amy moved over to the table and sat down beside him. 'You want to tell me what that was all about upstairs?'

'No.' He still wouldn't look at, but now took a bite out of the apple.

She could tell he had pulled up the spook mask, whatever was going on, he wasn't going to tell her. Well, she wasn't ready to give up yet. She took a drink of milk, set the glass down and looked him in the face. 'I thought you were done with this kind of work.' She stated flatly.

'I am done. I don't think this is official CIA business.' He answered.

'What is it then?' she asked, and got a shrug and the noise as he bit into the apple again.

'This is about your father, isn't it?'

'Amy…' he started.

'Clay. I am trying to understand you and your search for what happened. But what was it that made you to come barreling into the nursery with your weapon drawn?'

'Amy, I can't go into it. I really don't have an answer why. I haven't had a chance to think it through yet. I'm just glad you and the baby are all right'

'If you won't give me any answers, let me give you one. You thought we were threatened, and came home as soon as you found out.' Clay didn't answer her, or look at her. He just kept staring and munching his apple. This seemed enough of an answer for her, they had indeed been threatened. 'Who would have threatened us, and why?'

'I don't know!' he shouted. Those were the exact questions that were buzzing around his head, but just didn't have any answers yet. She deserved an answer, but he just didn't know. 'I wish I had an answer, but I don't, not yet.' He said more calmly.

They sat quietly for a moment, each with their thoughts. Amy spoke first.

'Maybe it is time to put it away again for a while, Clay.' She suggested.

'I'm so close now. Closer than I thought if what happened tonight is any indication.' He said.

'You must be really close to something someone doesn't want you to find, to threaten your family.' Amy reasoned.

'He is my family too.' Clay insisted. 'If you love me you would understand that. I have to finish this.'

'I do love you Clay, don't ever doubt that.' Amy answered; it hurt a little that he would think that. 'I just don't understand how you could put your family in danger, to find out about your dead father. Finding the truth won't bring him back.' She stood up and started moving to the swinging door. His voice behind her stopped her.

'It would be a good idea if you took Claudia and visited your father in Wisconsin for a while.'

He wanted her to leave; to let him handle this alone. She didn't understand, and he wasn't going to stop until he had found out the truth. He wanted is wife and daughter safe while he finished the work. She couldn't believe it. Then she thought, yes, I do believe it. He was tenacious and stubborn and wouldn't stop, no matter the consequences. But he loved them, and did not want them in danger. At this moment, she both hated him and loved him for this. 'If that is what you want.'

'It is.' He hated to think of sending them away. He would miss them terribly, but it was the only way to keep them safe.

'I'll make arrangements tomorrow.' Then she left him alone in the kitchen.

Next day

Video Conference Room

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

0720 local time

The face that had caught his eye yesterday, and could not shake from his memory, was now staring him down, larger than life on the wall screen in front of him.

It had not taken much to arrange a video conference with prison officials. They were more than happy to cooperate with a senior CIA agent, researching terrorist groups in the Middle East. Clay just left out the part that he was interested in this particular prisoner's terrorist acts from 25 years ago.

'It was so long ago, and I was so young and foolish, Mr. Webb.' Moumdee was saying.

'It's a simple question. Did you try to negotiate the release of the hostages, and what did those negotiations include? Who was your contact? How far did….'

'We were not very successful, obviously.' Moumdee interjected. 'When I was working on it, it was in the first 6 months. When the student leaders found out I had begun talking to the other side, I was, shall we say, relieved of my duties.' He said with a smirk. 'I was lucky they didn't kill me.

'But I thought you were working on behalf of the student leaders, that was what was reported in the case file.' Clay said.

'Well, if that was what was reported in the case file, whoever wrote it was terribly wrong, and naïve.' Moumdee said with a sly smile.

Clay was a little hurt at the implied insult to his father, who had indeed written the case report, but he let it go.

'You said you were relieved of your duties, and were lucky to stay alive. Your life wasn't in danger from them was it? They would not have killed one of their own.'

'Mossari is not the kind of man you cross.' Moumdee answered. 'And he was in charge back then. After my little talk with him, I was all but banished.'

Clay had done it. He had gotten another name to follow, Mossari, and Clay knew this person already.

Corridor outside Video Conference Room

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

CIA HQ was one of the most secure buildings in Washington. But within the walls itself, business was conducted rather openly. Video conference rooms had several techs moving in and out, the screen was large and the volume was high to offer the most accurate communication.

The Executive standing outside, as if waiting for his turn to use the room, was not unusual. He was casually listening to the conversation going on inside. When the name Moussi came over the speakers, he could not suppress the anger that forced the single word, 'Damn' through compressed lips. Nor could he stop the hot flush that moved up from his collar. With a mumbled, 'That is it Webb.' He moved down the hall with a stern look on his face and a determination in his stride that was enough to for other passersby to give him a wide distance in the hall.

Herb's Deli

Washington DC

2143 local time

Clay had worked late, and stopped off at a deli for a sandwich and cup of coffee before going home. Amy and Claudia were in Wisconsin now, so there was no rush to get home. She had called to say they arrived safely. It had been a short, cold phone call. She was still angry at him for sending them away while he finished his work on finding the truth about his father.

Clay understood her anger, in his more generous moments. He thought if he could just keep them safe, and finish this, then he could bring them home, and get on with their lives. He hoped so anyway. Clay had not talked to Amy in the past couple of days. He wasn't sure if calling would only make her angrier, or if not calling would make things worse. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't situation, he thought as he finished his last bite. He had brought his research notes with him into the deli, and was reviewing them again, thinking about the next step. It was easy to look at the files here; the deli was on the way home, but off the beaten track for other CIA personnel. He could look at this information knowing on one was looking over his shoulder. The deli was different at night, than at lunch time when he usually visited it. It was not in what one would call a 'nice neighborhood' and it just seemed a little tougher at night. He wouldn't stay much longer, just wanted to jot down a couple more ideas.

Clay had not noticed the truck that was parked on the opposite side of the street from the deli, or the two men who sat in the cab, watching him through the large deli storefront window.

Looking over the notes, Clay tried to think of his next step. He didn't want to leave the country, but thought that was the only way.

Using Neville's code name, Clay had found more case files, and saw notes regarding the beginning of negotiations for the release of the American Hostages in Iran, with one of the members of the militant students that were holding them, on Kavil Ali Haveet Moumdee.

This same man, Moumdee, 25 years later, had been arrested in the country for terrorist activities, and was not serving time in the Federal prison in Leavenworth, KS. Through a video conference two days ago, Clay had talked with him and discovered that Moumdee was working on behalf of Moussi at the time, and his father had never had the chance to finish any deal for the hostages.

Moussi, if it was the same man, and clay was pretty sure it was, is also on the United States Most Wanted List in the Middle East. Clay also knew that he would never be picked up. Moussi, in some intelligence circles, was nicknamed 'the Godfather' of the insurgent underground in Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, and who knew where else. The CIA knew his general whereabouts, but let him operate, because of information he fed back to the west on arms dealers, insurgent groups in other countries, and other little tidbits of information that were useful. Moussi didn't give up too much information, only enough to keep himself free to conduct his 'business' without interference from Western powers. It was a sometimes messy, but helpful arrangement for both sides.

Moussi never met with agents face to face, Clay knew. Agents met with Moussi's tribe men, who took messages back and forth. This took time, but was worth it. And here, Moussi turns out to be a contact in the middle of terrorist actions 25 years ago. The armed take over of the US Embassy and holding of American Hostages, showed a little youthful recklessness, but was right up Moussi's alley.

Clay sat back looking at his notes. He would probably have to take a trip over to Iran, make contact with the station chef in Tehran and see what information he could get on contacting Moussi. With a 'cover' of researching insurgent groups in the area, Clay's specialty, he request to contact Moussi would not draw any unwanted attention, he hoped. Since the threat to his family, Clay had treaded more carefully, but he would not stop his search, not now when things were really opening up.

Clay gathered his notes, and put on his coat and left the deli. As he moved to his car, parked in a lot beside the building, Clay did not notice the coming up behind him. One man hit him over the head, the other caught him as he fell and dragged him behind the building, where one held him while the other continued to punch and kick him.

Clay was half conscience of what was happening, and with the first blow to his head, his reflexes were slowed and he could do nothing to defend himself. He was coherent enough to hear their threats.

'This is what happens when you try to dig up the past.'

'Stop the search. Stop sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong.'

'We know where your family and friend are, and if you continue digging you will only hurt them, or kill you.'

With one parting blow, and the question, 'You got that, Mr. Webb?' they left him in a heap on the ground.

Clay could only grunt in reply, and then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Webb Odyssey Pas Duex

Claire Vincent

In the interest of getting something posted, and moving the story along, this chapter is a short one.

Chapter 4

George Washington Hospital Emergency Room

Washington, DC

0016 local time

Cmdr Harmon Rabb Jr. entered the busy Emergency room and approached the center nurses' station.

'I'm Harmon Rabb; someone called me about Clayton Webb. He was brought in here tonight.' Harm said anxiously. The nurse on the phone did not give him much information over the phone when she called, only that Clay had been brought in, and Harm was on his list of contacts incase of emergency.

The nurse checked her computer. Without looking up, she said, 'Mr. Webb is in exam room five.' Then she looked at him and gave the direction with a nod of her head, 'Third door on the left.' Then she went back to work on the computer.

Harm thought about asking some questions, then decided against it. If it was really serious, they would not have let him go into see Clay right away. Harm just started walking down the hall, and entered Room 5.

Clay was lying on a gurney with glaring fluorescent lights shining off his pale face. The light made the bruises and butterfly bandages all the more obvious and painful looking. Harm couldn't help the 'Oh, Clay' that came from his lips as he walked toward the bed. He was reluctant to wake the man up, but didn't need too, as soon as he got close, Clay was startled, and woke up.

Looking up at his friend, a look of confusion came over his face. 'What are you doing here?' Clay asked.

'The nurse called me. Said you were brought in, and I was on your contact list. Your family couldn't be reached.' Harm said. 'What happened?'

Clay closed his eyes and thought a minute. 'Where's Amy?' he thought aloud. Then he remembered. She and the baby were in Wisconsin. He not only remembered where is family is, he remembered why he was in the hospital, and how much he hated hospitals.

'Go get the nurse for me, please. I want to get out of here.' He said to Harm as he started to push himself into a sitting position. As he did, the room began to spin, and the edges of his vision went sort of green, then black. He blinked his eyes to try and clear them.

Harm put a warning hand on Clay's shoulder. 'Hey, wait a minute. You sure you want to be doing that?' He watched as Clay's pale face went an even chalkier white under the bruises as he tried to sit up.

Clay was able to slowly sit up, and swing his legs over the edge, but had to stop there. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea, but he wanted to get out of there. Waiting for his vision to clear, and the room to stop spinning he said to one of the three Harm's floating in front of him, 'Just get my stuff. I want to go home.'

Harm objected, 'You are not driving in this condition.' He said.

'I'll take a cab.'

'No, I'll drive you home. That's probably why I was called here. Where is Amy anyway?' He asked.

'Long story.' Clay replied, looking down at his bare feet, taking deep breaths so he didn't embarrass himself and get sick all over Harm's shoes.

'I'll get your things and drive you home. And then you can explain all of this to me.' Harm said reluctantly. He tried to steady Clay on the edge of the bed.

'Do I have to?' Clay asked.

'Price for the ride home.' Harm stated. Once he was sure Clay would not fall off, Harm moved to the door and went out to find a nurse.

Clay was beginning to feel a little better, and then started noticing all the aches and pains in his head, chest, ribs, hands, he stopped counting. I'll get home, have a good night's sleep and everything would be fine. He thought. He hoped so at least.

Clayton Webb Residence

Alexandria, VA

0118 local time

The ride to Clay's home was quiet. He sat with his head back, and eyes closed in the passenger seat as Harm drove through the quiet streets. He had a whole list of questions, but let Clay rest for now. He knew the agent well enough that Harm could ask any question he wanted to, but would only get the answers that Clay wanted to give him. They could wait until they were home to start what Harm felt instinctively would be a lengthy discussion.

The house was dark when he pulled into the drive. Clay gave him the keys and Harm went ahead to open the door and turn on some lights inside as Clay made his way slowly into the house. He wanted nothing better than to go straight to bed and escape his aches and pains in deep dark sleep, but he knew he and Harm had to talk. Of all the people in the world, maybe Harmon Rabb Jr. was the person he should talk to right now. He would understand after all.

Harm was anxious to give Clay a hand as he entered the house, but knew better than to offer. 'Let's just sit down here.' Clay suggested, and sank into the couch in the living room. Harm closed the door behind him, and joined him in the room. 'Help yourself to a drink, or check the kitchen if you're hungry. Help yourself.' Clay slipped off his shoes and coat and settled himself.

Harm wasn't hungry, and didn't want anything to drink. He sat in a chair opposite Clay. 'I'm fine. You want anything?' he asked.

Clay shook his head, a mistake since it was still spinning a little, and pounding with every heartbeat.

'So tell me what's going on Clay.' Harm started.

Clay smiled, it didn't do anything to brighten his face. 'Not sure where to start.' He said.

'Start with telling me where Amy is, she ok?' The question implied was 'Are you two ok?'

Clay answered the direct question, and ignored his friend's concern. 'Amy and Claudia are in Wisconsin visiting her family for a few days.'

Harm accepted this for now and moved on to the point at hand. 'So what is going on? Why do I get a call from the hospital late at night to take you home after being beat up?'

'I appreciate your help with that. Thank you.' Clay said, still avoiding answering him.

'You're welcome.' Harm answered a little annoyed. 'And I'm waiting for an answer.'

Clay leaned his head back on the couch cushion and sighed. Where to begin? At the beginning. 'How many years did you look for your father?'

'Since I was old enough to start researching it. I was 16 when I went to Viet Nam. Is this about your father?' he asked surprised.

Clay nodded. 'I recently had found a lead that opened up more and more information. I found out what he was working on the last 6 months of his life. I'm really close. But someone doesn't want me to find out what happened.'

'And they put you in the hospital to emphasize their point.' Harm said.

Clay stretched carefully on the couch, grimacing as pain shot through his bruised rib cage. 'Did a pretty good job too.'

'You going to take the hint?' Harm asked.

'No.' Clay answered. 'I wouldn't when Amy…' but Clay stopped here.

'What does Amy have to do with this? And why is she gone exactly?' Harm could tell he was, as usual only getting half the story from the CIA agent.

Clay looked across at Harm and thought. Was it time to ask for some help? It would be the hardest thing he would ever do. It was a very big favor. Clay still thought he could handle this on his own, but to let someone else know what was going on was to possibility put them in danger. But if anyone in the world could be trusted with this information, and understand what Clay was going through, it was this man, sitting patiently across from him. Were they friends? In some ways they were best friends. Clay had not had a closer friend than Harmon Rabb Jr. But would friendship go this far? Should it be tested this far? They had both put life and careers on the line for each other, but was it for the man, or was it for the woman they had both loved? Or the duty they both felt for their country?

This time it was personal.

Harm was still waiting for an answer. Clay knew he would wait all night. Clay decided it was time to call in reinforcements.

'I've looked for years for answers about what happened to my father. He is a bit of a legend at the Agency you know.'

Harm could tell he was about to get the whole story. This did not immediately answer his question, but he knew Clay would eventually get around to that. Harm settled back to listen to what he had to say.

Clay continued. 'I …you may find this hard to believe, but I never made friends very easily.' Clay said with a small smile. Harm smiled back in mock amazement. 'You, I would never have guessed.'

'I my third year at Harvard, I had finally made some friends. The 'right kind' of friends, the popular crowd, and I was just young and shallow enough that I was happy about this.' Clay smiled at his own youthful foolishness. 'Anyway, these friends were going to spend the Christmas break in Vermont, skiing, and had invited me along. This was Christmas 1979. I told my mother I was going with them and would not be home, but she stopped me, and insisted that I come home, at least for Christmas. I could join my friends after the holiday. My father had been out of town 'working' for weeks, and when he had been home, he was always at the office. Mother wanted a nice warm family Christmas, for his sake.'

Clay paused here remembering the heated conversation with his Mother all those years ago. He again considered how much he had been acting like a spoiled brat. 'We did not know it at the time, and I should have guessed of course but was too wrapped up in my own life to take a look at his. He had been working on the Iranian Hostage Crisis. That was the case he was working on the last six months of his life that I just discovered by accident recently.'

'I did come home that Christmas and played the part of loving dutiful son, but I resented every minute, and let them both know it. I was awful. I…I was surly and argumentative. I acted like a jerk, especially to him. It was his fault after all, that I had to delay being with my friends, because of his job, and pretending that I understood why he was gone all the time, and that I supported him and…' Clay wasn't sure where all this was coming from. It was deep down he hardly recognized it himself. It was like he was that spoiled, hurt college student again and it all came out. All the frustration and worry he had always felt for his father when he was away working, and the resentment for not having a regular father who was there for him whenever he needed him. Followed by the regrets he had felt later that spring. 'I arranged for a flight at a ridiculous hour early in the morning on Dec. 26 to join my friends in Vermont. That night before I simply said good night from the dinner table, went and packed my bags and slept a few hours before I left the house.'

It had gotten very quiet, and Clay's voice seemed to get lower in volume with the last few sentences. Harm could almost picture the sulking college boy slinking out of the house to meet up with his buddies in the early hours of a winter morning.

'In March he was reported missing in action. Mother told me to stay at school, there was nothing to do but wait at home anyway. By the beginning of May he was found dead.'

The two cold statements hung in the silence between them. 'Sounds sort of silly now, but I regret the way I acted then. I was so selfish, was such a…a… oh I don't know.' Clay paused here in frustration for the stupid things he did in his youth. 'I never said goodbye, or I'm sorry, or how much I….' Clay couldn't get the rest of this out, but both men knew what the rest of his regrets were. Harm felt them too, all too well.

'Does Amy know about this?' he asked. He didn't know what comfort he could offer, but thought Amy would know.

'Not all of it. Not that part.' Clay answered. 'They threatened her too, her and the baby. I sent them to Wisconsin for their own safety. She wants me to back off. Wait again for a while until it is safer. But the trail might dry up, contacts may be too hard to find, or dead. These people are not getting any younger.' Clay reasoned.

'Clay, maybe she has a point.' Harm started, but Clay shook his head 'No. I have been around and around it myself. The time is now to finish it.'

He looked intently at Harm. 'My next step is to go to Iran. I need to talk to one of the former students who held the hostages. He is in the middle of the insurgency groups there. I have a good idea of where to make contact with him, or at least his people, try and talk to him.'

'You think he will talk to you?' Harm asked surprised.

'He has an arrangement with CIA. It will be in his best interest to talk to me, and he knows it.' Clay said. 'Would you come with me?' he asked.

Harm was quiet for a moment, looking at Clay. He looked pretty rough with is bumps and bruises. The last thing he wanted was to get mixed up in anymore of this man's plans and schemes.

But where would he have been without the help of friends, old and new, when he had gone to Russia looking for his father? And where would his brother Serge be now if it had not been for this man sitting in front of him? Would he have lost his brother as POW too?

He hated to leave Sarah right now, but she would understand. After tests and specialists and embarrassing procedures, Sarah and he were expecting a baby. He felt he should be here to help her, and protect her, and knew full well that his Marine wife would loudly disagree with him that she, a Marine Colonel needed any help or protection at all. 'I can take care of myself.' Though Harm knew this to be true, he still felt it his duty to stay beside his wife. But didn't he owe Clay something for his help on some difficult cases through the years? Then again, Harm had helped him too. It was late, and Harm was tired, and this decision was just too hard to work out right now.

Clay broke into his thoughts. 'It would not be a long trip, a few days. I know it is asking a lot for you to come with me right now. I just feel I ought to have someone watch my back at this point.'

Harm nodded. It was against his better judgment, but how could he say no? Besides, a little plan was already forming in Harm's mind on what to do. 'All right. I have some vacation time on the books, and Sarah and I can't go anywhere together right now. I might as well take a few days, help a friend.'

'I appreciate it.' Clay said sincerely.

'You set it up, the travel arrangements and everything and let me know.' Harm said as he stood up to leave.

'I will, and I'll be in touch.' Clay said as he too, stood up to walk his friend to the door. Harm noticed the difficulty it took for Clay to stand and walk slowly to the door. He face had gone white again, with a thin sheen of sweat at the effort. 'You sure you are ok. You want some help getting upstairs…?' Harm offered.

'Thanks, I'll be ok.' Clay tried to assure him. 'Goodnight Harm, and thank you again for everything.'

Clay closed and locked the door behind Harm, and watched as the headlights pulled away from the house, and down the streets.

Clay turned out the lights, and slowly made his way upstairs. The house settled for the night around him, like a dark blanket that seemed to smother him. He went to his bedroom door, and couldn't go in. It just seemed too dark and empty. He walked down the hall, and into the nursery, turned on the low nightlight that would have been on had his daughter been asleep in her crib now. They had been gone a while now, and Clay missed them more each day. He wanted to talk things over with Amy, but didn't want to do it over the phone. And he missed holding Claudia, with all her little sounds, and big ones, he thought with a smile that lit up his face, and caused his bruises to throb harder. He picked up Claudia quilt from the crib. It still held all her baby smells, soap, powder, diaper, milk. He hugged it to his chest, wishing she were there, warm and heavy on him. 'I love you baby girl' he whispered.

End Chap 4


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

This chapter is dedicated to two loyal readers/reviewers (you know who you are), who were excited to have Harm and Clay 'back in action together again.' Because of this, I had to add a little 'action' to the plot I had planned, and that takes time. Sorry for the delay. I like this better, I hope you do too.

Webb Odyssey – Pas Deux

Claire Vincent

Andrew's Airforce Base

0646 Local time

Rabb arrived at Andrew's Airforce Base early, and was directed to the plane that would bring them across the world to Iran. It was a basic military transport, and Harm was not happy at the prospect of being in the small uncomfortable seats for the next 18 hours. But it was his job, or at least the job he had chosen to be part of this time.

He had said good-bye to Sarah at their home this morning. She was on limited bed rest now until the baby was due in the next 3 months. She was handling being at home pretty well so far, but he knew she would get bored quickly, and then cranky after that. But they would put up with it. They would put up with a lot of things to see this pregnancy through all the way safely. He hoped nothing would happen while he was gone. But he expected to be back in a few days, and Sarah had assured him she would be fine. Without her knowing, she was going to have some visitors dropping by, and calling each day, just to be sure. Bud and AJ both had said they would be happy to check up on her while he was gone. He would leave her to their capable hands.

Harm smiled to himself as he walked toward the plane and saw Webb waiting for him on the tarmac beside it. He had a little surprise for Clay too.

Clay saw Harm approach, and waved. Harm walked up beside him and set down his gear. They were both dressed in loose comfortable travel clothes, khakis and vests with pockets. No uniforms were required or wanted on this trip. 'Good Morning.' Clay said.

'Morning' Harm replied. 'All ready?'

'Yes, we will be able to get on board in a few minutes.' Clay told him. He was looking around, watching the crew check over the plane before take off.

Harm on the other hand was watching the comings and goings of jeeps and trucks between them and the base building he had come from.

Clay noticed this and was wondering what Harm was looking for. 'Everything all right?' he asked.

'Yeah, fine.' Harm answered.

'Sarah wasn't coming down here was she?' Clay asked. He hadn't thought about that possibility until now.

'No. She is on bed rest for now, and although she can get up and move around and go out a little, a trip to the airbase and all that walking wouldn't be good for her.' Harm answered.

'I hope everything is ok.' Clay was startled by this information and concerned for both of them. He knew how much this baby meant to both of them.

'Everything is fine. Just be sure to get me home in a few days all right?' Harm insisted with sly smile.

'That's the plan.' Said Clay, hoping for the same thing, but ready for whatever they might run into.

Harm was still looking around, and finally saw what he had been looking for. He smiled, and turned to Clay.

'Good Morning.' Said a bright, cheerful voice.

'Good Morning, Amy,' Harm answered, barely holding on to the mirth as he waited for Clay's reaction to his wife's arrival. He wasn't disappointed.

'What are you doing here?' Clay demanded loudly.

'Hi Harm.' Amy responded to him, then looked at her husband with a wide smile on her face.

Clay continued. 'And why are you dressed like that?' Amy was wearing the same type of dessert clothes, only a little more on the feminine side, with a headscarf tied loosely around her neck and shoulders.

'Because if I came to the base naked, they wouldn't let me inside.' She said with a smirk and laugh.

Harm joined her with a playful snort, then tried to reel it in again, since he saw Clay was so upset.

'This isn't funny.' Clay declared.

Amy was barely able to control her giggles at her own joke, 'No, you are right. But your reaction is pretty funny Clay.' She said.

'Amy,' Clay began.

'I think I will let you two talk alone. See you on board.' And with that, Harm picked up his gear and started toward the aircraft.

'You are not coming along.' Clay stated with a clear note in his voice that the subject was closed.

Amy ignored it. 'I am coming with you and Harm. You need me.'

'I want you at home where you will be safe.' Clay stated.

'You showed me I wasn't safe in Washington.' Amy told him, all trace of laughter gone from her face and voice now.

Clay paused at this and looked her straight in the eye. Ok, point taken he thought.

'Where is Claudia?' he asked.

'She is still with my brother and his family, and having the time of her life and getting spoiled rotten. She is fine.' Amy answered.

'You should be back with her.' Clay said.

'I should be with you.' Amy snapped back. She took a breath and started again, a little calmer. 'Clay I am sorry I didn't understand, or support you before. But Harm told me you felt you were really getting close, and I want to help. I can watch your back.'

'That is why Rabb is along.' Clay shot back.

'Then I will watch both your backs. I can also be an interpreter for you.' Amy reasoned.

'I lived over there for four months if you recall. I can speak Farsi too.' Clay claimed.

'You can understand Farsi fine, but you speak it like a five year old.' Amy said. Clay hated to admit it, but she was right. He had not had to speak very much while he had been in Iraq after they were first married. It was more important for him to listen. As such he could follow what people said to him, but to construct sentences on his own was a little harder. He knew he needed more practice.

Amy was right too, about her safety. She may be safer with him than alone right now. He hated the thought of her being in danger anywhere. If she was with him, he could at least keep an eye on her.

And, he had to admit; he had missed her over the past few weeks, while he worked alone in Washington. He was torn between pushing her into the nearest jeep and ordering her back to Wisconsin, and taking her in his arms and showing her just how much he had missed her.

He looked at her sideways, not sure what he should do with her, and she looked back at him with a smile spreading across her face. She knew she had won.

One of the ground crew approached Clay and said, 'Mr. Webb, the plane is ready, you can board now.' Clay looked at him and said 'Thanks.' Then he looked back at his wife.

'Did you bring a Jilbab too?' he asked, referring to the full covering garment worn by women in Muslim countries.

An exasperated look crossed her features. 'No, I plan on traveling to a devout Muslim country, and wear tank tops and mini-skirts.' Then she smiled again. 'Yes, I have a full one in my gear, and plenty of head scarves too.' She replied.

'I want you to wear one all the time, and cover your face too. I don't want to see anything but your eyes for the next four days.' He demanded.

'All right.' She said, holding her hands up in surrender.

He looked at her again. 'I hate having these conversations with you.' He said. 'Why are you so stubborn?' he asked.

'I have to be, I'm married to you.' She smiled, and picked up her gear.

As they headed toward the plane, Clay said. 'One other thing, you aren't my wife. We can't be married on this trip, it could jeopardize both of us if anyone found out you were my wife.'

'Ok. But that means we can't sleep together.' She pointed out, and stepped into the plane.

Clay paused and thought about this. Then he shook his head. He has been apart from his wife for weeks, and he wanted her, and now he has fixed it that they couldn't be together, certainly not with Harm in the same room. What had he done? He thought. 'Nice work, Webb.' He said to himself as he boarded the plane behind her.

Outside of Tabriz

Northern Iran

0755 Local time

They arrived in Syria, and after giving the base commander a story for their purpose in the region, they obtained transportation into Northern Iran, heading for Tabriz in the mountains. Contacts with Mossari were always made from this city or the surrounding area. His actual whereabouts at any given moment were known to only a few his people at a time.

Clay made arrangements for them to stay in a small boarding house, sort of a motel, not very fancy, and they were all in one room. It had been expected the men would sleep on the two small beds, and a low cot was provided for Amy. Harm, and Clay both tried to do the gentlemanly thing, and said one of them would take cot, and Amy enjoyed watching them both as they ruffled their respective feathers at trying to be noble. In the end she made the practical argument that since she was the smallest of their party, and the cot was small, she was going to be far more comfortable in the cot anyway. Not to mention, putting up with either one of them when they haven't gotten enough sleep. After a little more male posturing, it was settled and they all got some sleep.

The next day they reviewed their plan. It was pretty simple. They simply had to pass the word around that they wished to talk to Mossari. Once the word was out, Clay was certain Mossari would find them.

'Tell me again why we don't contact the CIA station office to get a fix on this guy's whereabouts?' Harm asked, as they were getting ready to leave their room and begin inquiries in the city.

'I don't really want the CIA to know I am here.' Clay answered. 'The office thinks I am in Wisconsin visiting my wife and her family, and no one else really needs to know why I am here. I need to keep a low profile. To many people outside CIA know who I am now, and my connections and…it would just get too complicated and dangerous.'

Clay was referring to the fact that since he had been working undercover with an insurgent group in Northern Iraq about a year ago, and had been suspected to have 'changed sides' and worked to help these insurgents, but was confirmed to have been working for the CIA all along. It was pretty tough for him to move around 'in country' without drawing the wrong kind of attention. Any insurgent group could recognize him and kill him, and any CIA operative could recognize him and start asking a lot of questions Clay didn't want to answer. They could also get him into a lot of trouble with the Agency. Clay didn't want to tell Amy or Harm, mostly because it was only a vague idea, but Clay was beginning to think whoever was trying to stop his investigation about his father's death were coming from inside the Agency, and from very high up.

Clay was hoping he could discreetly make contact with Mossari and his people, ask his questions, get answers to what had happened to his father, and then get back out again without anyone else being the wiser. Harm and Amy might make the ring a little wider, and catch the wrong kind of attention, but he did need someone watching his back, and maybe with their help they can cast a wider net, and make contact with Mossari that much faster.

Harm nodded his understanding, even if he didn't know all the details. Clay had not been a field agent since coming back from Iraq a year ago. Too many people knew he worked for CIA now. Too many of the wrong people, and he couldn't blame Clay for wanting to keep his head low. For the hundredth time, Harm asked himself if coming along on this trip was such a good idea.

'Where should we begin?' he asked as they left the boarding house.

'When in the states and Europe, for this kind of work you ask around in the bars and clubs at night to try and make contact with the 'kingpin' of the underground. When in the Middle East, you begin with the cafes, in broad daylight.' Clay answered and crossed the street to the first café in sight.

They split up for part of the day, Clay going off on his own, and Harm and Amy staying together, Amy acting as Harm's interpreter. She at least was able to move around easily among the population, fully covered as she was in the Jilbab, where Harm had a harder time trying to fit in with his height and obvious American good looks. They were able to stay out of trouble, discreetly asking about Mossari or his group. They really weren't expecting to make any contact, just wanted the word out that they were looking to discuss a deal with him.

Boarding House

Outside of Tabriz

Northern Iran

1738 local time

Clay had made his inquiries and had seen a couple of faces in one of the cafés he thought he recognized. Before leaving Washington, he had downloaded pictures of men thought to be associated with Mossari from the CIA files, and Clay couldn't keep their faces out of his head. He had to go and check the file saved on his laptop back at the boarding house. If he was right, and these men were connected to Mossari, Clay may have made the contact they needed.

As Clay opened the door to their room, the barrel of a pistol was pointed at his nose, and a voice inside the room said. 'Please join us Mr. Webb.'

Café nearby

Tabriz Northern Iran

1750 local time

The day was fading into dusk, and both Harm and Amy were tired from their wanderings, and the tension of their work. The had made their way back around to a place near their boarding house, and had decided to take a break and get something to eat. They were to meet Clay back at the room before dark. While they were waiting for their food, Harm asked, 'Do you think we made any headway today? It seems a pretty poor way to try and contact someone.'

Amy shrugged her shoulders. 'We will know shortly I suppose. However silly it may seem, it is how things are done here.'

'I didn't really like splitting up this afternoon.' He stated. 'How am I supposed to watch his back if I am not there? But it does seem we can make more inquiries if we go in different directions.' He sighed. So many things on this trip seem contrary to how it should be done. Maybe he was still tired out from the long day wandering around, and the jet lag. 'Do you think Clay has any better luck?'

'I hope so.' Amy replied.

Boarding House

Outside of Tabriz

Northern Iran

1840 local time

CIA Agent Stuart Billings, knew Clayton Webb was lying. He knew Webb had a long, outstanding reputation with the Agency, and Billings wondered how he could have gotten that far, and been such a successful field agent, and be such a bad liar.

Billings also understood, that whatever Webb was leaving out of his story, Billings was going to have to do his own digging to find it. He would not get the information from Webb.

He asked one more time; just to be sure he had all the information straight that Webb was giving him. 'So, you are here gathering information on insurgent groups, and want to talk to Mossari.'

Clay looked him in the eye and said, 'Yes, that's all.' It was all, to a certain extent. Clay knew Billings wasn't buying the story, but he really didn't care. He just wanted the agent out of here. Hopefully Clay had already made contact with Mossari's group, and they could talk and get out of here fast. Faster than Billings could do any back checking.

Billings kept pushing though. 'If you wanted to contact Mossari, why not check in with us when you arrived? We could have maybe set something up. Though we don't really like someone from the outside coming in and contacting our best informant. You might inadvertently mess our agreement up with Mossari.'

Clay decided to be insulted by this, and put Billings in his place. 'I might mess things up? I'll have you know I was working as an agent on Middle East cases while you were worrying about your first pimple.'

Billings looked properly put down by that. He was quite a bit younger than Webb, and maybe had gone a bit too far.

'Besides,' Clay continued, 'I wanted to keep this low key. It is just some quick foot work, and then I will be out of here.' He promised.

Billings still wasn't satisfied. 'Who are the people you are traveling with, and where are they now?'

Billings had been paying attention, Clay thought. Just my luck. 'They are friends of mine.' He answered.

'One is a woman. Your wife know you are traveling and staying with a woman in your room?' Billings asked, indicating the three beds.

'She is an interpreter, and my marriage status really isn't your concern, Billings.' Webb said pointedly.

'Who is the other guy?' he asked Clay.

'A friend.' Clay was getting tired explaining himself and his actions to this kid, whether he was working at the CIA station in this area or not. 'I know better than to come to this part of the world without back up.'

At this very moment, Clay's back up decided to come back to the room. The door opened, and Billings and the other agent with him, both drew their weapons, and trained them on the door.

Harm walked in, surprised at the two men holding revolvers at his head, and Clay at the back of the room, standing causally by the window.

'Put up your weapons, Billings. They are with me.' Clay ordered.

With a nod from Billings, both men put away their weapons. Harm and Amy cautiously entered the room. Amy stayed behind Harm, and kept her scarf over her face. She frantically looked over at Clay to be sure he was all right, and with a short nod to her, he let her know he was ok.

'Commander Harmon Rabb Jr. I believe.' Billings stated once Harm had entered the room.

'Who wants to know?' Harm asked.

'My name is Stuart Billings, and this is my associate.' He said as he indicated the other agent with a nod.

'Our friendly neighborhood CIA agents.' Clay interjected from across the room.

Billings stepped toward Amy and pulled off her face scarf. Amy gave him an angry look, but said nothing.

'I know you…' Billings began. 'You're that Major that was held captive in Iraq. Got beat up pretty bad.' He paused a moment in thought. 'Harold, Harper, Harris…, that's it, Major Amelia Harris. Oh, wait. Not Harris anymore.' He turned and looked at Clay. 'Mrs. Clayton Webb now isn't it?'

'Now you know, you can go home now Billings.' Clay said.

Billings looked back at the two standing by the door. With all these people in the small room, and the three beds, it was getting a bit crowded. And, he had gotten all he needed to know for now. 'Maybe it is time to go.' He said to no one in particular. He turned back once more to Clay. 'If you are not asking for our help, I won't give it, now or later, Webb. I don't have to tell you we will be keeping an eye on you. If you get into anything you are not supposed to, you will hear from us.' He stepped toward the door. The other associate stepped in front of him, and opened the door as Harm and Amy stepped aside to let them out.

As Billings came to the doorway he turned once more and addressed all three of them. 'One more thing, whatever it is you _are_ doing here, wrap it fast.' Then he left the room, and closed the door behind him.

Harm looked over at Clay and asked, 'What is that supposed to mean? "He won't help us, now or later, and we better wrap it up fast?"' Was that a threat?

Clay shrugged his shoulder, 'I guess. I suppose he means that if we find ourselves in trouble we are on our own, the CIA will disavow us, as usual.' Harm nodded at this, he knew that rule well enough. 'And we should finish our work here, because he will begin his own checking to find out why we are here, and it would better for us to finish and leave before he finds out the truth.' Clay shook his head. This was the last thing he wanted, some CIA baby trying to catch him at something, and use it to advance his own career. It would work too, if Billings found out why he was here. It could also tip off whomever it was that was running interference in Washington, and threatening Clay to stop his research. Whoever that was, could try something here too. How did all of this get so complicated?

Amy came over and gave him a hug. He looked like he needed it. When they drew apart, Clay asked them both. 'Were you able to find out anything?'

The three of them sat down, and began reviewing where they had been that day, and what they had found out, which was very little.

Clay told them about the men he thought he had recognized, and they checked his file from CIA on the laptop. Yes, two of the men he had seen today where known associates of Mossari. There were names, but the file assumed these were aliases, and they doubted those names were being used now. Clay had not talked to them, but he did feel they were taking a special interest in what he was asking, and whom he was talking to.

'We will just have to wait and see if anything comes of it.' He said.

It was late, and they were all tired. The lights went out in the little room, and they all went to sleep quickly.

Outside of Tabriz

Northern Iran

2214 local time

After two more days of making the rounds of cafes in the area, asking questions, and getting more and more dirty looks, Clay, Harm and Amy all felt they were overstaying their welcome.

Nothing had come of the two men who Clay thought he saw on the first day at one of the cafes. He had stopped there several times since, and just took a cup of the cafes finest brew, and sat back to see if those men ever came back. They had not. Clay now was not so sure it had been them. He was getting discouraged. Almost three days now, and they had He had been so sure this was the way to contact Mossari's group. He was beginning to think that getting on the wrong side of the local CIA office had been a bad idea. How could he go back and try to get information from them?

Harm and Amy were sitting across the table from him, both looking tired. They had shared a late supper, and were thinking of heading back to the boarding house. There, Clay would have to come up with some other plan, because this one wasn't working, and they were running out of time.

Clay left money on the table, and he stood up. The other two did the same, and they all headed out the door into the darkened street. They walked up the street toward the boarding house in a staggered line, Clay in the lead, Amy behind him, and Harm a couple steps behind her. They were all watching the street, checking faces, watching doorways and cars. As they passed a walkway between two buildings, a hand came out and grabbed Amy, pulling her into the dark shadows. Clay heard her small gasp, and turned around, Harm came up quickly too, and they both stepped into the dark. Their eyes took time to adjust to the light, and that split second, both men received punches, one to the body and one to head, which didn't do that much damage, but knocked the wind out of them, and momentarily knocking them senseless.

Harm felt himself being dragged along the alleyway by a couple of men and just as he was getting ready to struggle to try and free his hands, he was thrown against the hood of a car, and a gun was shoved into his face. He looked to his left, and saw Clay was getting the same treatment. Another car in front of them had its headlights turned on, and the shadow of man stood in front of the lights. Both men could see the figure there, but his face was in shadow.

Harm looked at Clay out of the corner of his eye. 'I'm getting tired of guns being shoved in my face on this trip.' He said.

'Me too.' Agreed Clay. 'Where is the woman?' he demanded loudly. His blood had turned cold at the thought of not being able to see his wife. 'What have you done…?' Clay started, but the shadowy figure cut him off.

'I am the one asking the questions here.' He said. 'The woman is unharmed, for now.'

Harm and Clay exchanged a look then looked back at the man.

'Why are you asking so many questions about Mossari?' he asked. 'Who are you?'

'I need to talk to him, ask him some questions. We are Americans.' Clay answered.

'I know all this already.' The man replied impatiently. 'What questions do you have for him? You are CIA, yes?'

Clay could barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Maybe those letters were tattooed on his forehead like Amy had always said. 'I just want to talk to Mossari and ask him a few questions.'

'What questions! What is this about?' the man insisted.

'It is a personal matter.' Clay said.

The man did not respond right away to this. He stood silently in front of them thinking.

During all of this, Harm was scanning their surroundings, looking for any sign of Amy, counting how many men he could see, how they could possibly get out of here with their lives. He wasn't sure how far Clay was going to get with is conversation, but he hoped they would figure it out soon.

The man finally answered Clay. 'Mossari does not talk to CIA, or any Americans. He works through contacts. Tell me your questions, and I will bring them to Mossari.'

'That's not possible. As I said it is personal. I need to talk to Mossari directly. It is just a few questions. It has nothing to do with any present day government.' Clay was hoping he could tell enough of the truth to get this man to bend, without going into the whole story. Clay really wanted to be the one to talk to Mossari. The less people who knew the whole story the easier it would be to get to the truth and get out of here.

'If Mossari did talk to you, what would you offer in payment for his information?' the man asked.

Clay thought for a moment. He hated playing this card, but didn't see anyway around it. 'I do have connections to CIA.' He confessed. 'It would be in Mossari's best interest to talk to me to keep his, "special status" with them.'

The man almost laughed at this but was interrupted.

Clay and Harm both noticed some voices coming behind the man in the dark, and some shuffling. Another man came into the light and whispered into the first one's ear. The two of them conversed a moment, then the first one looked up at Clay and Harm again.

He said, 'As I told you, Mossari does not talk to Americans, but there is someone here who he may talk to.'

Two figures came out of the car in front of Clay and Harm, and moved into the light. The one in the lead, with a man holding her arm was Amy.

'Are you alright?' Clay asked quickly.

Amy nodded. 'Yes, I'm fine.'

The man broke into their exchange. 'She says she is your interpreter.' Clay tried to mask his face and the concern for his wife he was sure was showing. They had to believe she was only their interpreter, for her own safety. 'She has offered to take your request to Mossari.' The man continued, then his voice softened. 'She is beautiful, and a proper, modest Muslim woman.' He said. Both Clay and Harm could hear the smile in his voice, and didn't like it at all.

'No.' Clay said flatly. 'That is out of the question. She is under our protection and I am responsible for her. I can't let her go alone with you.'

'She would be perfectly safe with us.' The voice demanded. 'We have no quarrel with her.' He stated. 'She talks for a living, let her talk for you with Mossari. He respects women, and would extend to her his own protection.'

Amy had kept her head down through all of this, trying to look like the good, modest woman they expected. She finally broke her silence, and asked the man in Farsi. '_May I have a word with these men?'_

The man nodded, and turned away, stepping out of the light to let them talk in some privacy.

Amy turned to Clay and Harm. 'What are you doing?' Clay demanded in an angry whisper.

'Trying to get a meeting for at least one of us with Mossari.' She took a quick look over her shoulder then turned back to Clay. 'Do you have any other suggestions? There are a whole group of them Clay, all well armed. I don't think they would kill us, but they won't tell you where Mossari is, and they won't take you to him. They seem to think he will talk to me, let me try.'

'Don't be stupid.' Harm said. 'You're willing to risk your life on their word?'

'There is honor among thieves, and honor is important to these people. Amy told Harm.

'They aren't thieves, Amy, they are terrorists.' Harm answered her. 'You know what I am talking about better than anyone.' He said, referring to her time as a captive at the hands of an insurgent group.

'Yes, I know what I am getting into.' She said. 'Think about it; if Mossari takes me as a guest or a hostage, he risks losing his whole operation if anything happens to me. And it is a big operation, he wouldn't be willing to risk that.'

'That is only if word gets out that he did take you.' Harm shot back at her.

'Yes, that is your and Clay's job, to be sure the world knows who is behind it if something happens.' Amy answered him.

Clay was quiet through their whole exchange. He couldn't believe he was even contemplating her idea; it was crazy, maybe crazy enough to work.

'Amy,' Clay finally said, 'Are you sure about this?'

'Do you have any other ideas?' They could just turn out the lights now, disappear into the night and send word out that we are not to be given any information on Mossari's whereabouts. The whole thing would be shut down to us forever, and then what will you do about finding what happened to your father?'

Clay hated himself right now, but there may be a way to cover everyone in this, and secure both the information and their safety.

'All right.' Was all he said.

Harm looked at him in complete surprise. 'What! You are going to let her do this?'

Clay wouldn't take his eyes off Amy. 'I love you. You will be safe, I will make sure of it.' He promised.

'I know.' She said. She wanted so much to reach out and have him take her in his arms, and kiss her before she set out, but she knew that was impossible if she were to keep her cover. She looked into Clay's eyes, and saw the same need there, but he didn't move.

Amy glanced once more at Harm, then back to Clay. 'I will be all right, but I am counting on you.'

'I won't let you down.' Clay promised again.

Amy turned, and walked back to the car. She got in the back seat, and Clay and Harm were released, as the rest of the men got into the other car and drove off.

Clay and Harm were left alone in the dark alley. Harm looked at Clay, the surprise and now some disgust was there on his face.

'I can't believe you just let her go. Again!' he said. 'Are you crazy?'

Clay looked down the alley in the direction the cars had just taken. 'I just may be.' He said quietly. 'But I have a plan.'

'I sure hope so.' Harm said. 'But I bet I won't like it. I don't like it so far.'

Clay looked back at him. 'Trust me.' He said with a half smile, and started walking back to the road.

Harm said to himself as he started to walk behind him. 'That's what I am afraid of.'


	6. Chapter 6

Webb Odyssey Pas Duex

Claire Vincent

Chapter 6

Village Street

Outside of Tabriz

Northern Iran

0335 local time

They continued down the street, heading in the general direction of the boarding house. Neither of them said anything. They were both too overcome with the change in events, wondering if there had been any other way.

Harm looked at Clay as they walked together down the dark street. 'So what's your plan?' he asked.

'I'm working on it.' Came the answer.

Harm had to smile at this, even though the situation did not warrant it. Amy had just been taken away by a group of men, hopefully to get a meeting with Mossari, and to get some answers. Clay had just let her go, but he promised to back her up. Clay had not told Harm how they were going to do this, and Harm was beginning to realize, Clay didn't know how they were going to do this. Clay was grasping at straws, moving headlong from one lead on what happened to his father to another.

'This reminds me of something.' Harm said.

'What's that?' asked Clay, still staring straight ahead, as if the answers were out there somewhere.

Harm smiled again, at the memory. 'When Mac and I were in Russia looking for my father, I was acting just like you are now.'

'How's that?' Clay asked warily.

'I had no plan, we were traveling with gypsies, trying to stay one step ahead of two former KGB agents who were having their own private little war between themselves. We were in the middle of nowhere, and I was going to get on a train heading for Siberia on a tip from someone who wanted me dead. Mac pulled me aside and told me I was running on emotions, not thinking clearly, not handling it as an investigation like I should have been.'

'So you are saying I am acting emotionally and impulsively? Not thinking clearly or rationally?' Clay asked with a touch of anger.

'Yeah, I guess I am, Webb.' Harm answered equally angry. 'You drag us both over here,'

'Hey, she insisted on coming, all right!' Clay said in his defense.

'You just seem to be handling this mission by the seat of your pants, Clay.' Harm retorted.

'Well, you should be used to that, isn't that what you jet jockeys do all the time?' Clay snapped back at Harm.

Harm stopped walking and turned to look at Clay. 'I'm just saying you don't seem to be thinking ahead on this one. Do you have a plan? Do you have back up plans in case something changes? You are a good field agent, Clay, and I do trust you, but step back and think about what needs to be done and how we are going to get there.'

Clay looked up at his friend, and was surprised and touched that Harm had said he trusted him. He wasn't sure he trusted himself right now, after throwing his wife into a den of thieves and terrorists. Harm was right, he had been going from one thing to another, following the path of clues up until now, and it was time to start directing this investigation his way.

'You're right.' Clay said, and turned to start walking down the street again.

'Of course I am.' And Harm turned to walk beside him.

Silence fell between them once again.

After a few moments Clay asked. 'Are you tired? Do you want to go back to the boarding house and get some rest?'

Harm looked at him sideways. Amy was who-knew-where, there was no plan for what to do next, how to find her or Mossari, and Clay wanted to sleep? 'Yeah I'm tired, but there is work to do isn't there? You think you could sleep right now?'

'I'm just checking.' Clay said defensively. 'And No, I couldn't sleep right now either.'

'So where are we going?' Harm demanded.

'When in trouble, you go to the authorities.' Clay stated.

'The police?' Harm asked surprised. What did Clay have in mind, report Amy kidnapped, he thought.

'No' Clay answered with a smirk. 'The CIA.'

Across the street from United International Shipping office

Outside of Tabriz

Northern Iran

0640 local time

Clay and Harm took up surveillance positions across from the United International Shipping office, the 'front' of the CIA office in this sector of Northern Iran.

Bright and early in the morning, Stuart Billings came into the office, looking the typical CIA agent, trying to look like a businessman, Clay thought. Were we all that obvious? He thought to himself. With a nod to Harm a few yards away, the two men crossed the street, and walked into the office together. During the night Clay had made his plans. He told Harm as they entered, 'Just follow my lead.'

The outer office was empty, and Clay and Harm walked right in to Billing's office as he was setting up the morning coffee.

'Billings, we need your help.' Clay said without preamble.

Startled, Billings turned with a questioning look, 'My help with what?'

'Mossari's men have taken my wife hostage.' Clay said with some urgency.

'I told you Webb, we can't help you.' Billings stated.

'You've got to. She is an American citizen being held by a foreign….'

'Webb, I warned you. You and your little party were on your own!' Billings shouted over him.

'I am sorry about your wife, truly, but there is nothing I can do.'

'Can't you contact him, find out what they will do with her, …make sure she won't be harmed?' Clay pleaded. He was putting on a good show of the worried husband, and Harm thought it probably wasn't that far from the truth. He was just staying quiet until he got a sign from Clay that he needed some help.

'They won't hurt her, probably. They'll ask her why you are looking for him. She's cute, Mossari will like her, believe me.' Billings said with a slight smile.

'If that is supposed to make me feel better, it doesn't.' Clay stated. 'You gotta help me.' With each sentence, Clay's voice and attitude seemed to get more desperate.

Harm decided to join in. 'What are you willing to do, can you contact anyone who will help us?' he asked Billings.

'I have no contacts that I can give you. My orders are clear on this, you are working alone, and I am not to help you.'

'Orders!' Clay shouted. 'Orders from who? Who did you call?' he demanded. Clay mind was reeling; Billings had called HQ and told someone Clay was here on a private matter. This may tip off whoever it was at Langley who was trying to stop him. Now time was imperative, before anything happened here in Iran to stop him from getting information from Mossari.

'When you were so evasive at our last interview, I called Langley for instructions.' Billings said. Before he barely finished speaking, Clay was on him, grabbing the front of his coat and pulling him within inches of Clay's face.

'Who did you call!' Clay demanded.

'My superior, Marcus Stillman; he instructed me to neither help nor impede whatever you were working on here. "Stay clear, don't get involved", that is what he told me.' Billings said nervously.

Clay relaxed his grip on Billings jacket just a little. Stillman was ok, wasn't he? Clay had known him for years. He had known Neville. Marcus could have no idea what Clay was doing, or could he? Either way he had not told Billings to stop him at least. Clay decided to let it go for now. Finding out where Amy was taken took priority.

"Tell me where Mossari is, we'll take it from there.' Clay said.

'I cannot divulge that information.' Billings said in his best non-committal agent voice.

Clay's grip on him tightened again. 'Tell me where to find him, Dammit! My wife's life is on the line!' he shouted.

'You should have thought of that before you brought her into the middle of this.' Billings answered sarcastically.

Clay threw him down to the floor and pulled out his pistol. 'Tell me where.' He demanded, pointing the barrel at Billings' head. Billings turned a ghastly shade of white, and sweat formed on his forehead.

This was going too far, and Harm still wasn't sure what was an act and what was real. He remembered the fear and depression Clay experienced when Amy was taken in Iraq almost two years ago. They all felt responsible then, and Harm wouldn't put it past him to demand information at gunpoint this time. 'Clay, that's enough.' He shouted, trying to get his attention.

Clay either didn't hear Harm, or ignored him, but he did change the direction of the barrel. 'Do you play any sports Billings?' he asked as the pistol moved down, above Billings' knee. 'Tell me where I can find Mossari to get my wife back, or you'll never play, or walk regularly again.'

Billings made a soft worried whine in the back of his throat, but he kept his lips closed tight.

Clay slowly moved the hammer back from the pistol, preparing to shoot. 'Where is he?' Clay said in a quite, yet ominous voice.

'Map.' Billings said.

'Where?' Clay asked.

'A map on my desk, green paper, under the stack there.' He nodded toward the desk.

Clay looked up at Harm, and with a jerk of his head, asked Harm to start looking for the map on Billings' desk.

Harm stepped quickly forward and started shifting through stacks on the desk. In the second one, he found a hand drawn map and held it up.

Clay looked up at it, and then looked back down at Billings, 'That the one?' he ask

'That's it.' Billings said with a sigh of relief. 'It's a little rough, but it will get you up to Mossari's compound.'

'Car.' Clay demanded.

'Keys to a jeep parked out back in the top desk drawer.' Billings quickly offered.

Harm came around the desk and found the keys, grabbed them and started toward the door.

'We appreciate the help.' Clay said. 'Sorry for the inconvenience.' Then Clay leaned down, and hit Billings with the butt of the pistol, knocking him out. With that done, he moved away, and started for the door.

Clay and Harm went out the back door of the office, found the jeep and started off down the road. Harm handed Clay the map as he drove out of the village. Questions were swimming in his head, and Harm couldn't wait anymore. 'Was all of that completely necessary?' he asked Clay.

'We finally got Mossari's location, didn't we?' Clay answered in his regular, flat agent tone.

'I can't believe you did that Clay. Were you really going to shoot him to get that information?' Harm asked in disbelief.

'No.' Clay answered. 'I wasn't going to shoot him, I just wanted to scare him.'

'Well you scared me.' Harm confessed. They were both quiet for a moment, and then Harm asked.

'What would you have done if he hadn't given in and given us the map?'

Clay stared out on the road ahead of them. He answered quietly. 'I don't know.'

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

24 hours earlier

The Executive received the text message from a secure line on his cell phone that was not part of the phone network of the Agency.

It was from the over eager clerk that worked in several offices in Langley, keeping his eyes and ears open for the Executive on a number of subjects. He had come in very handy. The young man had promise, and was hoping to move up the ranks of the agency quickly. He would be disappointed, thought the Executive, but that harsh realization would come later. Right now, he was very useful, as this last message confirmed.

_Message to M. Stillman from S.Billings, office in Northern Iraq. Webb and Harmon Rabb Jr. are there, trying to contact Mossari. Would not give purpose to Billings. Billings waiting for instructions on how to proceed, from Stillman._

So Webb had gone over the Iraq to continue his digging, even with the warnings. And he brought along a friend.

The Executive did some research on his own; found the service records of Harmon Rabb, Jr. for both the Navy and CIA. Like Webb, this man seemed to have had his hand in everything, and had worked closely with Webb for a number of years.

He then pulled up a personnel file on Rabb. Once with CIA, you may not always be with CIA, but CIA always keeps tabs on you. Rabb had gotten married in the past two years. Hmmm.

The Executive grabbed his phone, the one off the CIA network, and made a quick call. Webb and his friends were getting too close. He was tried of this game and Webb had enough warnings now, it was time to act.

Somewhere in the mountains in Northern Iraq

1143 local time

Clay and Harm bumped along the dirt track that passed for a road in these mountains, both wondering if they were finally on the right one.

They had been driving around for hours, trying to follow the sketchy directions that were on the map. They had missed landmarks, and had to back track a number of times, but this seemed correct, since they had come around an outcrop of rock, and saw a tent village on a plateau ahead of them.

As they drew near the road that would take them to the top, several armed men came out from hiding, and blocked the way, with their bodies, and their weapons. Harm slowed down, and as they pulled up to the group of men, more men above them and behind them showed up, completely surrounding their vehicle.

A man with the same size and shape as the figure that had talked to them the night before broke away from the group in front of the jeep, and came around to Harm.

'Ah, impatient Americans. You couldn't wait for us to return the woman?' he said with a wide smile.

Harm didn't know how to answer this, so he just kept quiet. This was Clay's mission after all. 'We just wanted to be sure she was all right.' He answered calmly. 'We don't want any trouble.'

'That is good we don't want any trouble either.' The man said.

He nodded to the group in front of the jeep, ordered them out of the way, then he and a couple others climbed into the back of the jeep, and still grinning at Harm behind the wheel said, 'Let's all go and see if she is all right.'

Harm put the jeep into gear, and started driving up the hill.

Tent of Mossari

Somewhere in the mountains of Northern Iraq

1212 local time

Amy stood quietly, her head bowed a little in proper supplication and respect. But her eyes were busy darting around the tent, noting the number of people, and weapons in sight.

Since her arrival at the compound late last night, Amy had kept her head down, and her eyes open. No one threatened her, or mistreated her, but they all watched her carefully. It probably was not too strange having many people coming and going in the tent village, coming to talk with Mossari, but everyone kept to themselves.

She had been brought to the woman's tent, shown a place to sleep on a large rug and given a blanket. Surprisingly, she was able to get some sleep. In the morning the women shared their food with her, and she waited to see what would happen next. She didn't wait long, mid morning she was taken to the largest tent and shown where to stand to the side and wait for her turn to speak with Mossari.

The tent was large, and well furnished. Beautiful rugs and pillows were strewn everywhere, and there where some chairs also. Mossari sat in one of them, and seemed to hold court. Watching the comings and goings of underlings and visitors, Amy thought it all a weird cross of THE GODFATHER, and TALES OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. Men came in and talked in low tones to Mossari. They were given instructions, and left.

Mossari was a man of middle age. Deep lines creased his eyes, and around his mouth. Those might have been from age, or from living in the dessert as well. His beard was black, with some streaks of grey, and Amy assumed his hair would be the same, but it was hidden under a plain turban. He didn't look quite look the part of fierce insurgent/terrorist, but Amy knew looks could be deceiving.

After about an hour of standing to the side, the flow of visitors stopped, and aside from a guard of sorts at the door, Amy found herself alone with Mossari.

In Farsi, he called her over, and indicated a stack of pillows on the floor in front of his chair. She sat down on them, as she had seen other visitors do that morning.

Mossari looked at her a few minutes, while she kept her eyes downcast. Finally he broke the silence.

'What brings you all the way here to my tent?' he asked quietly.

Now that the interview had begun, Amy didn't know how to begin with her questions, or how to answer his. She had been so watchful since arriving, concerned for her safety; she should have been planning on what to say. Too late now, she had to start talking, and fast.

In her best-unaccented Farsi she said, 'I was hired to be the interpreter for an American, who was looking for what happened to his father 25 years ago.'

This seemed to surprise Mossari, and he leaned back in his chair with a smile. 'And you think I have the information you and this American are looking for?'

'We hope so.' Amy answered quietly, and cast her head down again, more to think of how to proceed than in a show of respect. This is it, either he will ask some more questions, or turn me out, she thought.

Mossari continued to watch her, then leaned forward and asked, 'What makes you think I can help you?'

'A man you worked with at that time, confirmed you were involved.' Amy answered.

'Twenty-five years ago I was a young man. Idealistic. And I had very little contact with any Americans.' Mossari answered.

Amy was a little afraid to go on, but she had a question to ask of her own. He could very well kill her for asking it though. We have come this far, not to find out for sure would make it all a waste, she thought.

'Did you have contact with Americans held in the US Embassy in Tehran?'

She got him. There was just the hint of a flicker in this eye. Was it surprise at the blunt question, or was it anger at the assumed accusation? But then the flicker was gone, and the smile disappeared and he leaned back in his chair. 'That was all a long time ago.' He said flatly.

'A long time to wonder how your father was killed.' Amy answered back. She shouldn't have said that, she was giving too much away.

They sat staring at one another, sizing each other up. Amy had let some of the 'cards' show; she might as well show them all. This was their only chance to get to the truth.

'The men who hired me have connections.' She stopped short of mentioning the CIA, as a lowly interpreter she would not know about that exactly. 'They said their connections are the same as yours within the US. And they can make those connections difficult for you.' She hinted.

Mossari got the message. Amy couldn't tell if he believed her, or if the threat was even taken seriously, but Mossari had gotten the message. His 'connections' in the US allowed him to operate his business without interference, as long as he kept giving them information on other insurgent groups.

The tent was silent for a long time as Mossari considered Amy's statement. After a few minutes, he nodded to the guard by the door, who immediately turned and left the tent.

Amy wasn't sure what this meant, maybe he was getting reinforcements and she would be dragged out of here in a minute and killed in some deserted, secluded place. Amy watched him go from the corner of her eye, then looked back up at Mossari who was back to staring at her.

Finally he asked, 'What is the name of the man the Americans are looking for?'

Amy swallowed, and let out the breath she had been holding. 'Neville Webb.'

Tent of Mossari

Somewhere in the mountains of Northern Iraq

1315 local time

The quiet tones of Mossari's voice were interrupted by shouts from outside the tent. Suddenly, a group of men burst into the tent, rifles and handguns at the ready. Standing the middle, with hands tied, were Clayton Webb and Harmon Rabb Jr.

Mossari stood up as soon as the group entered, and moved toward the door. Amy stayed seated on the pillows, but looked over her shoulder to see what the disturbance was. When she saw her husband, and Harm, she closed her eyes, and looked away with a look of disappointment.

Clay saw Amy across the tent, and saw her face but did not see the look of disappointment in her eyes. All that registered with him was that she was here, and looked unhurt. The weight that had lodged in his chest since he last saw her, was it only last night, lifted, and he breathed a little easier.

'What is the meaning of this? Who are these men?' Mossari demanded.

The leader who had been giving orders since Clay and Harm were captured described everything to Mossari, ending with, 'We brought them here immediately. What do you wish to do with them?'

Mossari looked at his head of security, and then looked over at Clay and Harm. They both had bruises on their faces, and Harm had a cut lip. He looked back at his man and asked, 'Brought them to me immediately, did you?' The man had the grace to know when he was caught by his boss, and simply shrugged.

Mossari moved away from the group, toward Amy. 'You men came for her?' he asked, indicating Amy who remained seated at his feet looking at her hands in her lap. She didn't trust herself right now to look up at Clay and Harm. She was afraid her anger would show, and throw off their story. She had to wait for Clay's lead, to see what he and Harm were indeed doing here. She thought they would wait for her return, but obviously, Clay couldn't wait.

She heard Clay's voice answering Mossari. 'She is with us. She is our interpreter. I am responsible for her safety and wanted to be sure she was being treated well.'

Everyone waited to see if Mossari would accept this answer, and see what he would do next. He could invite them all to sit down to dinner, or just as easily order all three of them shot right now.

Mossari looked down at Amy, grabbed her arm and brought her to a standing position beside him. He didn't hurt her much, but it was more than just helping her from the pillows. 'You see she is fine. She is unhurt. She told me she was looking for information for one of you, about what happened to your father. Is that true?'

Harm looked at Clay, who nodded and answered. 'Yes. I am trying to find the truth of what happened to him in this country 25 years ago.' He said carefully. Would Mossari give him the answer right now?

Mossari looked at Amy, who was keeping a demure composure through all of this, when she really wanted to do was start screaming at her husband, 'just relax and let me carry through the plan. He was telling me damnit. For once just shut up Clay!' but she didn't dare, not here and not now. Mossari had started telling her the story, whether it was the truth or not Amy didn't know, but she wasn't sure she would get any more out of him now.

Mossari looked back at Clay and Harm, and in Farsi, ordered them to be taken out of his sight. He would deal with them later. With that, his men grabbed and pulled Clay and Harm out of the tent again.

He turned, and went back to where Amy was standing, looking at her very carefully. She stood still, allowing his scrutiny, wondering what would become of her.

Finally he said, 'Is that all you are, their interpreter?'

Not sure to trust her voice she nodded yes.

'Hmmmm.' Was all he said, then, 'We will finish this at another time. I will call for you.' Then he turned and went over to a table and began looking at the stacks of paper there.

Having been dismissed, Amy left the tent, and returned to the women's tent, grateful for the temporary reprieve.

Small tent

Mossari's Compound

Somewhere in the mountains of Northern Iran

2344 local time

The compound was dark, and only a few men were outside going about whatever business Mossari had for them.

Amy was looking around, thinking where would Clay and Harm most likely be? There was a tent down the way from her, the only one with a lamp lit inside. There was also a man, sitting outside the entry to the tent. 'That's probably it.' She thought. Leave it to her husband and Harm to come up here trying to save her, and ending up hostages themselves.

Amy adjusted the bag she had over her shoulder, put the scarf in place over her face, and started toward the tent. She approached the man sitting outside, and greeted him politely in Farsi. He asked what she was doing, not in a threatening way, but just sounding curious. This was a good sign. She told him she wished to see the Americans inside. She had brought them some food. The guard nodded, and then looked away, dismissing her and her errand of mercy.

Amy entered the tent and found what she had expected. One lamp was lit, and hanging from a pole supporting the roof of the tent. Tied to other poles pounded in the ground, with tops up to the roof, sat her husband, and Harm. Both men looked tired, uncomfortable, and unhappy. She couldn't help but smile at them as she came in and withdrew her facial scarf. Amy moved over to where Clay was sitting, propped up against the pole dozing. She lightly stroked his head and said his name to wake him.

'Clay.'

He stirred, and sleepily looked up at her. 'Amy.' He said. Then he remembered where he was, and now she was here, and he completely came alert, with panic starting to move over him. 'Amy! You ok?' he asked worriedly. 'What's going on?'

His startled voice woke up Harm as well and he started struggling against his ties. Amy looked over at him. 'You ok?' she asked.

'Fine. Never better.' He answered sarcastically.

Amy looked back at Clay. 'I'm fine. Everything is going to be all right.' She stated. 'I think.' She added nervously. She untied Clay's hands and handed him some bread and cheese that she had brought in the bag. 'Here, I grabbed this from the women's tent.' Then she went over to Harm, and did the same for him.

Between mouthfuls Clay asked. 'What are you doing here?' he asked angrily. 'How have they treated you? Have you talked to Mossari? Did he tell you anything?'

Amy glanced at Harm with a slight smile. 'Where should I start do you think?' Harm shrugged and took a bite of bread. It was stale, and a little hard and tasted wonderful. He and Clay had not eaten anything since the day before.

Clay kept filling his mouth too, and rifling questions at his wife. 'What do you think you are doing? You are going to get into trouble in here with us.'

Amy shook her head and went to sit close to Clay, but between both of them. She pulled out a jug and passed it to him. 'Here, have some goats' milk and let me get a word in edgewise, will you?'

Clay took a swig and passed it to Harm as Amy began. 'I have been treated like a carefully watched guest, I guess.' She wasn't sure herself what her status was, but she had not been bothered by anyone so far, and she wanted to put Clay's fears to rest. 'I have the freedom of the compound it would seem and I am not followed, but am watched carefully by everyone around. I couldn't tell you what was being reported about me, if anything.'

'What do you think he will do with us?' Harm asked thinking of Mossari.

'I have no idea. But I don't think you are in any real danger, yet.' Amy answered. 'I was let inside pretty easily, but there is an armed guard at the door.' She told them.

Both men took this information and filed it away for reference later.

Now it was Amy's turn. 'Why are you here anyway? I thought the plan was to get to see Mossari, ask our questions and then get out of here. I was doing that.' She stated, and looked right at her husband. 'Don't you trust me, Clay?'

'I trust you completely.' He stated defensively. 'I don't trust him.' Referring to Mossari.

Amy got up and retrieved the empty bottle between the two men, putting it back in her bag. 'I had everything under control Clay.' She said with a certain edge to her voice. 'He swallowed the story of my being your interpreter, and that you two had connections that could make his business arrangement difficult if he didn't answer my questions. Now I couldn't imagine what he thinks of the three of us.'

'Did he tell you what happened? Does he know who killed my father?' Clay asked hopefully.

Amy looked him in the face. 'He was telling me when you two barged in interrupting us.' She said in exasperation. 'I don't know now if he will talk to me again or not. He may send us all away without finishing, or he may shoot us at dawn, or he may shoot you two and keep me. I think he likes me.' She said uncomfortably.

'She has a point Clay. Your timing, as usual was lousy.' Harm chimed in. 'What should we do now?'

Clay looked at him, then up at his wife. There was only one thing to do. 'We have to stay here for now. Tie us back up.' He said.

'What?' Harm asked surprised. 'That's your plan?'

'Harm, we can't fight our way out of here, we are out gunned and out manned. If we sneak out, Amy will be the primary suspect for who helped us, and her life will be forfeit.' Amy was kneeling behind Clay again, retying his hands, but less tightly this time. 'If all three of us disappear into the night, I will never find out what happened 25 years ago.'

'I guess.' Harm conceited as she came around and did the same for him.

'I have to stay in Mossari's good graces so he will see me and tell me the full story.' She said.

As she got up to leave Clay asked. 'What has he said so far?' eager to hear anything that may start answering some of the nagging questions about his father.

Amy looked down at him, unsure of what to say. 'So far, it is a long and involved story. Though I think he is telling me the truth, there is a lot he has yet to tell me.' She glanced at Harm. 'I'm sorry to leave you like this.'

'We will be all right.' He assured her. He hoped it was true.

Clay stopped her as she stepped toward the door. 'Amy, tell me.' She knew he was desperate for information, but what Mossari had told her so far was hard to believe as truth and she wasn't ready to give Clay only part of the story. 'Not now, Clay; there isn't time. I will try and see him again in the morning and let him finish. Sit tight, don't make any trouble, and I will do what I can to get us all out of here with our necks intact.' Then she was gone.

George Washington Hospital

Maryland

1143 local time

Sarah Mackenzie Rabb stepped out of the hospital doors into the bright sunshine, glad to get some fresh air after being cooped up in the doctor's office for the past hour, getting poked, and jabbed, and scanned.

The baby was doing fine, and she was doing fine, but was still on bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. That was fine. She was happy to hear that it was helping, and everything was going smoothly. She wished Harm were here so she could tell him, but he would be home in a couple of days. He and Clay had promised. She hoped they were finding the information on Clay's father.

She was pulling out her car keys as she walked toward the parking lot. She was going to pick up some cleaning, and maybe some lunch, she was hungry, again. And then head home and have a nap.

She was looking for her car, and watching for other cars driving through the lot, when a good-looking older man approached her, smiling at her. She was getting used to the attention of strangers, everyone seemed to put on a kind sort of smile when seeing a pregnant woman. She smiled back and he said, 'Mrs. Rabb?'

This surprised her a little, how did he know her name, but that thought went right out of her head as she felt the end of a gun pushed up to her protruding abdomen and he took tight hold of her arm. He was looking all around, smiling but whispering in her ear, 'Let's not do anything foolish Colonel, and you and your baby won't get hurt.'

Sarah was too scared to say anything, her mind racing on what she could do. Had she been in her usual Marine physical condition, she could easily take him on, gun or no gun, but she wasn't willing to risk hurting her baby. He had obviously assumed that.

He walked her over to a dark sedan and pushed her inside. Keeping an eye on her, and the gun pointed at her from his side, he walked around the car, got in behind the wheel and they drove off.

End Chapter 6

Want to see how I tie all this together? So would I, stay tuned. Probably two more chapters to go.


	7. Chapter 7

I took some constructive criticism for the end of the last chapter. Mac would not have been taken that easily, I guess I would agree. However, review episodes, EMBASSY and STAKER for how easily Mac can be taken, at least in the first couple of years. As badly as this character wants a child, and is finally pregnant, and on bed rest to protect this unborn child, I'm going with her newfound motherly instinct over Marine strength. Who's to say how anyone would act with a gun pointed at your unborn child. Work with me people…. CV

PS, Life has certainly gotten in the way over the past couple of weeks, and I am sorry this is taking so long between chapters. But hang in there, the end is near. And thanks for all your support! CV

Chapter 7

Webb Odyssey Pas Deux

Claire Vincent

Mossari's Compound

Somewhere in the mountains, Northern Iran

0613 local time

Amy slept very restlessly that night on the rug in the women's tent. She was worried about what to do next, and how to tell Clay the things she had found out about his father. She still believed there was more to the story. There had to be. She had to get back into Mossari's tent and talk to him some more.

When the sky lighted with dawn, she tried to eat a little something, but her heart wasn't in it. She decided to just go into the main tent, and wait to talk with him like everyone else did. The worst that could happen was that they would not let her inside. And she was not going to sit around here waiting for a summons.

As soon as it was feasible, she walked out of the tent, her face covered as always, and walked purposefully toward the main tent. No one bothered her or stopped her. She was admitted without question, and she took her place along the side, where she had respectfully waited the day before.

Mossari noticed her entrance, but did not acknowledge her in any way. So she waited.

After over an hour of watching everyone come and go exactly like the day before, Amy was beginning to feel as if she were being ignored. Mossari did not ever look at her during this time, and none of the other men paid any attention to her.

Finally, there seemed a lull in the stream of visitors, and Mossari finally looked her standing there. He said, very pointedly, 'I have nothing more to say to you.' Then he moved off toward the desk, dismissing her.

Amy was not going to be so easily put off. 'But I can't believe what you told me is the full story.' She said, stepping toward him.

'What I told you was the full story.' He stated flatly.

Amy looked at him in disbelief. What he had told her yesterday was…unbelievable, not possible. Though she never knew Neville Webb, the information Mossari had given her was, 'That's just not possible.' She said aloud. 'I can't believe he would have done that.'

'Did you know the man?' Mossari asked.

'No, but.' She started.

'Then how do you know what he would or would not have done?' he asked.

He looked down at the work on his desk, moving on to the next item.

Amy said, aloud to herself. 'How will I tell him?' thinking of Clay. How was she going to tell him this about his father? It will crush him.

Mossari looked up at her again. 'Tell his son?' Amy nodded. 'He came looking for the truth. The truth can hurt, he should of thought of that before coming here.' He said coldly.

'How can we believe you?' she challenged him. How could they really? He was an enemy to America, it could just be a big story to hurt them and get them out of here.

'I have no reason to lie to you.' Mossari answered. 'Whether or not I believe the American men have connections that could hurt me, this all happened so long ago, the truth can hurt no one anymore.' He said in his defense. 'Except maybe his son.'

He had a point there, Amy thought. Wasn't that Clay's argument all along to get the CIA to open his father's case files? It was so long ago; the information couldn't hurt anyone anymore. Maybe it could, thought Amy.

As Amy stood before him, trying to accept what he told her, he said. 'You and the Americans are free to go. You have your answer, and you are no threat to me at the moment. But I would advise you to leave quickly. My hospitality runs short.'

Amy nodded. Whether it was the truth of what had happened to Neville, it was the only answer she was going to get, and the threat to leave now and quit bothering him was clear. She had to go and find Clay and Harm, and they all had to start back to the village. She had to find a way to tell everything to Clay. It wasn't going to be easy.

Amy moved toward the tent entrance, when she heard men's voices outside arguing in English. In the next moment, Agent Stuart Billings entered the tent. Amy was startled when he looked right at her, then looked at Mossari. Billings looked back at her and said in English 'So, you made it here after all, Mrs. Webb?'

Smaller Tent

Mossari's Compound

Somewhere in the mountains, Northern Iran

0927 local time

In the morning, Clay and Harm were awakened with a soft boot, poking them in the ribs. Their hands and feet were untied, and they were allowed to go out to use the latrine. When they came back to the tent, food had been left for them.

After they ate, Harm decided to test the waters, and strode out of the tent intending to walk down the dirt road that ran down the length of the compound. An armed guard stopped him four feet from the door. The guard 'politely' pushed him back inside, and placed himself outside the tent entrance.

'I guess we are still here for a while.' He said to Clay.

There was nothing to do but wait. They didn't know what they were waiting for. The guard either didn't understand enough English, or the little bit of Farsi Clay was trying to use, or he didn't want to answer their questions. Either way they were ignored.

The two men alternately paced the tent, or stood watching the comings and goings of people outside their tent, over the shoulder of the guard. This, he didn't seem to mind. So far, neither Clay nor Harm had seen Amy, or anyone else they recognized, and as time went on, Clay was getting more nervous.

Finally, Harm saw something. 'Oh, this can't be good.' And he nodded his head to bring Clay over to the door. 'What is it?' Clay asked.

'Isn't that our friendly neighborhood CIA agent, Billings?' Harm asked as Clay looked out the door.

'Great, what is he doing here? Besides making trouble for us?' Clay asked, as his heart began to beat just a little faster, and a little harder.

Mossari's Tent

Mossari's Compound

Somewhere in the mountains, Northern Iran

0928 local time

Amy was startled, as Billings came inside, but when Billings said her name, she looked genuinely frightened, then angry, that the agent had now blown her cover, just as she was getting out of here.

Mossari called to her in Farsi, 'Mrs. Webb? You are too young to be the wife.' He stated trying to place her relationship to the man they had been discussing.

Amy tried to calm her nerves and anger, and answered him, in Farsi, 'The daughter-in-law.'

'What are you two saying?' Billings demanded, looking at both of them.

Mossari answered him smoothly, in English this time, 'That is between myself and Mrs. Webb.'

The three stood there staring at each other, wondering who will or should make the next move. Billings broke first.

'Where are your husband and Commander Rabb?' he asked Amy.

She glanced at Mossari, but he simply looked at her with an open expression as if asking 'Yes, where are they indeed?'

Amy looked back at Billings and answered, 'I don't know where they are.' Which was the truth. She had seen them hours ago in a small tent. She really had no idea where they were this morning. She hoped not far away, she wanted to get out of here quickly.

Billings looked at Mossari, 'What have you been telling these people? What information did you give them?'

Mossari smiled as if talking to a young child who had to have everything repeated. 'That also is between myself and Mrs. Webb. It does not concern you or the CIA. Or at least the Agency you serve today.' Mossari smiled wider at his little joke. He seemed to be having a bit of fun, leaving Billings out of the loop. Deep inside, Amy was enjoying watching Billings' frustration grow.

'But, …' the agent began, but Mossari turned away, dismissing them both. 'I have nothing further to say to either of you. I encourage you to leave my compound now.'

Billings looked back at Amy who decided she didn't need to be told twice. She ducked out of the tent. Billings reluctantly followed her out.

Once outside, Billing grabbed her arm as she fixed her face scarf in place. 'Want to finally tell me what all of this is about?'

'You just don't take the hint do you?' she said. 'This is none of your business. It doesn't concern you, or the CIA or the war or anything.' And she pulled her arm away. 'We are leaving now. We will be out of the country as soon as possible, and you can forget all about us.' And she walked away; toward the tent she had last seen her husband. She didn't care what Billings did now, as long as he left them alone.

As she neared the tent, Clay and Harm were allowed outside. Clay asked immediately 'Is everything all right?'

Amy nodded. 'Yes, everything is fine. We are free to go.' In Farsi, she addressed the guard, saying Mossari had given them permission to go. He seemed to take her word, when another guard behind them gave him the 'high sign'. 'Let's get out of here. Do you have car or something? How did you get here?'

The three of them started walking toward the road that led down the hill. On their way they passed Billings as he was driving out in a jeep. He stopped beside them and said 'This isn't over Webb.'

Clay answered him, 'Actually it is, all over. See you in Washington some time Billings.' Having still not gotten the last word, Billings drove off in a cloud of dust.

Harm answered Amy. 'We had a jeep at the bottom of the hill. If it is still there, I guess we can get out of here.'

They walked down the hill, and were able to find the jeep, just where they had left it when Mossari's men had grabbed them the day before. All three climbed in, with Harm at the wheel, Clay beside him, and with Amy in the back, the started the return trip to the village.

Old home somewhere in Virginia

1347 Local time

Not long after he had picked her up, the man pulled over and blindfolded Sarah, apologizing that it was necessary. She had requested that he stop and let her eat something, or she would be sick but he refused. 'I'll fix you a nice lunch when we arrive at our destination. I promise.' She had also asked that he allow her to use a rest stop. She needed to stop, and hoped that a gas station or rest area with surveillance cameras would take their pictures, and give the authorities some help as to where they were going, maybe even ID her kidnapper. He was sympathetic to her situation, and after a few turns, the car stopped. The door was opened, and her blindfold taken off. They were on a dirt road, with no buildings in site. There was a tree nearby, and he walked her over to it, and held the gun on her around the trunk of the tree, giving her some privacy, but still covering her.

'You can't be serious.' She said. 'You expect me to just…. do it here in the tall grass?'

'This is the only chance you have Colonel. Take it, or hold it until we get to our destination.' He didn't talk cruelly to her, and handled her carefully when he led her back to the car, holding on to her arm. He retied the blindfold and started off down the road again.

It almost seemed as if he was reluctant to be doing this to her. Maybe she could use this to her advantage. She tried to engage him in conversation, but he only replied. 'I have to drive right now, Colonel. Please, let's not talk. I don't need the distraction.' After that he did not answer any of her questions or comments.

When they arrived, he took her out of the car, and led her to a building, telling her where to step, and helping her climb a few stairs with the blindfold still in place. She heard a creaking door open, and then more stairs, going down. The air was damp, and little dank smelling, but there seemed to be some fresh air coming in from somewhere. A door was closed behind her, and the blindfold came off.

They were standing in an old basement. The room was clean, but old fashioned with gray tile on the floor, light blue walls, and bright fluorescent lights in the tiled ceiling. There was a single bed with a threadbare green bedspread, a table and chairs, an armchair and a table with magazines and books stacked on it. There was a little kitchen cabinet with a sink and a dorm room size refrigerator under the counter to the left.

'Well, here we are Colonel.' The man said. 'There is food in the cabinets and 'fridge. Just help yourself. The bathroom is right through here.' And he pointed off the right. 'I hope you will be comfortable.' He said, as if he was some bellboy at a hotel.

'Comfortable?' Sarah asked. 'Why am I here? What are you doing? Who are you?'

'Now, now, don't get yourself all upset. Just call me Uncle for now. I just have to keep you here for a little while. You'll see, it will all work out.' The he turned and started to leave. At the bottom of the stairs was the door, he stopped here and turned around.

'Colonel, you will have to stay down here of course. But please make yourself comfortable. I will bring you meals, and there is good healthy food down here for you and your baby for in between snacks. Let me know if there is anything else I can get for you.' Then he turned and closed a large metal door, locking her inside.

Road back to village in Northern Iran

1217 local time

They had moved quickly to get as much distance between them and Mossari's men. They were not sure how safe they were, and distance seemed the best assurance.

The noise of the engine, and rough terrain made talking difficult, and they were all left to their own thoughts. Upper most in Amy's mind was how to tell Clay the story Mossari had given her on what happened to Neville, and whether she believed it or not. It all seemed to fit, answered a lot of questions, and he had no reason to lie, but it didn't make it any easier to believe.

Finally, Clay put his hand on Harm's at the wheel. 'Stop the jeep.' He said loudly. Harm pulled to the side a little, and parked the jeep, turning the engine off. 'Something the matter?' Harm asked.

'No.' Clay said. 'Amy and I are going to take a walk.' He stated, and got out of the jeep, looking pointedly at his wife in the back, and offering her a hand to get out. She reluctantly took it, and stepped out of the jeep, but she made no move away from the vehicle.

'If you two want to be alone, I can be the one to stretch my legs.' Harm offered.

They both said 'No' at the same time but for different reasons. Clay looked questioningly at Amy, and she continued. 'You don't have to go anywhere Harm.' Then she turned to Clay 'I want him to hear this too.'

'Amy,' Clay began. He wanted to talk to her about what Mossari had told her. He wanted the whole story, all the information she had now. He couldn't wait any longer, and he wanted to be alone with her when he heard it. 'Please, I just want to hear it alone…'

'Clay,' she said, 'I want an unemotional, unbiased opinion of the information, and Harm can provide that. And I don't want to have to go through it twice.'

'You want his opinion on what?' Clay didn't understand.

'Clay this isn't going to be easy; for me to tell you or for you to hear it.' She said.

'What can you tell me? He is already dead.' Clay reasoned. He was getting concerned. What information did she have for him that was so bad?

'Clay, it's just not going to be easy.' Amy said, and stepped away to gather her thoughts.

Both men waited expectantly. 'Just tell me.' Clay asked.

Amy turned and looked at both men. She had to start at the beginning, and just get through it all. The hurt could not be put off any longer. In the retelling, maybe she can tie things together to make some sense out of it, and find the holes. There just had to be another explanation.

Looking at Clay she began. 'Mossari confirmed that he was one of the student leaders that took over the US Embassy in 1979. When the situation began dragging out, and it looked like there was going to be a stalemate, the students got restless. They split up into three different groups. The first group wanted to keep the hostages alive, and use them to force the US and Western powers to recognize the revolution and new government under the Ayatollah Khomeini. They are the ones that eventually prevailed.'

Both men nodded, following the story. 'The second group, Mossari's group, wanted to trade the hostages for weapons to bolster the forces of the Ayatollah and defend them from any Western aggression. The third group, the loudest but smallest, Mossari described them, wanted to kill the hostages as an example to the West of what would happen to them if they tried to use force.'

With the background established, Amy had to push on to the tough part. 'Mossari's group was approached by contacts who represented, or so they said, a group of influential Americans interested in making a deal for the release of the hostages in return for arms for Iran. Mossari did not know who they were, only that they were 'influential' and had the means to make the deal.'

'They needed a middleman, someone in country, who had connections with the black market, and arms dealers, and the US. Someone who could move around easily in the Middle East, and especially Iran, who could get the arms needed, and deliver them.'

As Amy went on, Clay's face seemed to grow pale, and he began slowly to shake his head. 'No.' he said, but Amy continued.

'They used a CIA agent who had been in Iraq, working for the release of the hostages already, who was known to a few of the students, but not Mossari personally. Mossari said he never saw or talked to the agent, it was always one of the other students, used like a courier bringing messages back and forth.'

'No.' Clay said more strongly. Harm stopped looking at Amy, and watched Clay instead.

'The deal was going through, then something happened that put a stop to it. One of the Western contacts that was working the deal on the outside told the students all the arms were not being delivered because he had discovered some of the money had been taken off the top, and deposited into an account in a European bank. The students were being cheated.'

'No!' Clay shouted, but Amy kept talking right over him. She couldn't stop now; she had to get it all out.

Harm whispered, 'Oh, my God.'

'The student couriers caught your father and brought him to Mossari's men. He didn't tell me if it was at the US Embassy or where, but they held him for a few days, torturing him to get to the truth, and where the money or arms were. After a few days, when he refused to tell them anything, they shot him. They dumped the body out in the country, where he was found later. You know the rest.' She finished quietly.

'I don't believe it!' Clay shouted. 'It's a lie!' Clay's face was contorted with anger and anguish. 'My father would never do that!' and he stepped toward Amy ready to hit her or do something to make her stop saying all these lies about his father. Harm jumped out of his seat just in time to catch him and gave him a shake to get his attention. 'Clay, calm down. Amy didn't make this up! This isn't her fault!' and he kept a hold on Clay until he felt his body relax a little and the fury left his eyes.

'But its treason.' Clay said, looking at his friend. 'Making an arms deal for those hostages would have been paramount to treason.' He looked over Harm's shoulder at Amy. 'My father would never have done that. Any of it.'

Harm let go but stayed close, to offer whatever support he could to his friend. Harm knew a little of how Clay felt, finding out that your hero of a father, was human after all.

'I'm sorry Clay.' Amy said. She didn't know what else to say, nothing would help, and she knew it.

Clay shook his head, and the pain came back into his eyes. He stepped away from both of them. 'I won't believe it. He would never have done any of that.' And he turned and started walking aimlessly up the makeshift road.

'Clay,' Harm said, but Amy stopped him. 'Let him go for now. Let him walk a little, it will help him think. We will follow him and pick him up in a few minutes.'

Harm wasn't sure that was such a good idea, but Amy seemed to think this was best. She came over and leaned against the jeep, feeling completely drained. Telling the story had been as hard as she expected, and it didn't seem to help to understand it any better.

Harm and Amy sat quietly for a few minutes, then Harm asked her, 'Do you believe it? You were there watching Mossari as he talked, do you think he was telling the truth?'

Amy thought for a moment, then said. 'I'm probably not as good as some people,' she emphasized the last part looking directly at him, 'in telling if a person is lying to me or not. But I think he was telling me the truth. The truth as he knew it.' She paused a moment. 'You of all people should know that people tell the truth from their perspective, their understanding. I hope we can really find out what happened, for Clay's sake.'

Harm kept pressing her. He was an investigator and a Lawyer, and couldn't leave it alone. 'But do you think Neville Webb could have tried to make such a deal, against US policy?'

'Harm, the policy of not negotiating with terrorists came out of the Iran Hostage Crisis. I'm not even sure the term terrorist existed until then.' Amy answered. 'And I didn't know Neville Webb, or what he would have been capable of anymore than you do. The only things we know about him is what Clay and Porter have told us.' Her voice held a note of anger, but Harm knew it wasn't directed at him personally. It was frustration coming out, and disappointment.

'Clay went over his files, the ones he could get his hands on, and we know from those that Neville worked for weeks before the Embassy take over to get as many people out safely as he could. It was like a personal affront to him that he didn't get everyone out in time. He was part of the group that helped get the women out after the take over. That is probably why the students knew him and were willing to negotiate with him, if they actually did work on an arms deal.'

She continued talking, trying to fit pieces together. 'He was there, back and forth between Langley and Tehran working on plans to get the hostages out safely. No plan was too stupid to consider. And he had the contacts on the black market, arms dealers, and he had the means to be the middleman for the students, Americans doing the buying, and the dealers. It fits.' She said, shaking her head at where everything they knew pointed.

'I don't believe a man who could do that could also raise a man like Clay.' Harm said emphatically.

'Harm, you know how it feels. Did you ever think for one moment in your search for your father that he would find another woman and have a son with her?' Amy asked.

'No, of course not.' He said. 'But I don't blame him.'

'OK, but for one moment, one minute, didn't you feel betrayed by him?'

Harm didn't answer this, but the look in his eyes was enough.

Amy understood it and said, 'Neville didn't betray his son or his wife, it looks like he betrayed his country. How many of us really know what kind of people our parents are, or were? Maybe he was that desperate, to make a deal with the students to get the hostages out alive. We'll never know.'

She was quietly thinking, then stood straight up as another piece fell into place. 'It also explains the cover up.' She said.

'What cover up?' Harm asked.

'At CIA, why he was given a star, but his name is not in the Book of Remembrance. And why all the files are sealed. There might be people at CIA who were also in on it. Neville died for his country, but did it for the wrong reason, and others don't want their part of it discovered. It also explains why they are trying to stop Clay from finding the truth. Who knows how far this could reach.' She said speculating.

A chill went down Harm's spine. Could what happened 25 years ago still be damaging enough to someone that they would try to hurt Clay or his family to keep it buried? Clay was threatened twice to stop his research. Who was so scared? And what were they willing to do? What had he gotten himself into this time?


	8. Chapter 8

Webb Odyssey Pas Deux

Claire Vincent

Chapter 8

Andrews Airforce Base

1609 local time

The trip home was uneventful. By silent mutual consent, Clay, Amy and Harm did not discuss Neville Webb any further. Amy and Harm both slept on the flight home, but Clay could not. He envied his wife, and her innate Marine ability to sleep anywhere and at anytime. It was a talent she said she had needed in the Corps, and was still able to use.

Clay was left alone with his thoughts. He still didn't believe that his father had made a deal for trading arms for the release of the Iranian Hostages, all those years ago. What ever had happened, the arms deal, if there was one, had fallen through. The Hostages had been released in January 1980 when President Regan was sworn into office. There had been arrangements with Syria to help get them out. So whatever his father had been involved in, it was not the plan that had finally freed them. Besides, when they were released, Neville had been dead already.

No, Neville may have been part of a plan that went wrong, and had paid with his life, but he wouldn't have broken the rules, wouldn't have gone against the government policy. Clay was sure of that. Clay knew full well that rules were bent, and even ignored in the field sometimes, and agents had to improvise, but he was convinced his father would never have gone that far.

And what about the money? His father never needed money for himself. That part of the story was the biggest hole. His family was very well off, and his father had been an excellent manager of the family's financial interests. No, the secret bank account didn't fit at all.

And who had been trying to stop his investigation, and why? Had they been involved in the arms deal, and needed to keep their part of it secret? That seemed the most likely reason to keep the files sealed, and try and keep Clay off the trail. How far would they go? And how could Clay find out who they are? And how could Clay clear his father's name once and for all?

All these questions floated in Clay's mind on the long flight home, and they only seemed to become more confusing as the hours passed. He was glad when the captain announced they would be making their final decent to Andrew's.

As they taxied to their spot on the tarmac, they all gathered their gear, and exited the plane. All three were stiff, and tired, and very glad to be home.

Not far from the plane was a dark government car, with the emblem of JAG on the door. Harm was trying to think of who would be here to meet their plane, when Commander Bud Roberts stepped out from the car, and made his way over to them. Instead of a welcoming smile, his face looked very worried.

'Commander, Mr. Webb, Mrs. Webb.' Bud greeted them each with a nod, then looked directly at Harm. 'Sir, Harm.' He paused.

'Hello Bud, what brings you here?' Harm asked.

'I'm sorry Sir, I have…There is no easy way to say this but to just say it.' Bud was trying to put on a brave face, but was failing.

As he said this, a cold finger ran down Harm's spine. Was Sarah ok? Had something gone wrong with the baby?

'Just tell me Bud, what is it?' Harm asked a little frantically.

'It's the Colonel Sir. She's been kidnapped. We received an email this morning at JAG Headquarters making demands involving Mr. Webb.' Bud said, looking over at Clay.

Clay swallowed. This was the last thing he had expected, or wanted.

'Kidnapped!' Harm shouted. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean she is being held by someone and they said Mr. Webb had to stop his investigation and turn over all his files on it before she will be released.' Bud said calmly, but he couldn't hide the worry in his voice.

Harm looked at Clay with fire in his eyes. 'If something happens to her I'll kill you with my bare hands Webb!'

Before Clay could reply, Bud interjected, 'Sir, the Admiral is waiting for you at HQ with the FBI agent assigned to the case. I'm to take you there immediately and they can fill you in further. Mr. Webb, you are to come too.'

'Of course Bud. My car is here, Amy and I will follow you over to HQ.' Clay said calmly, and with that Bud brought Harm over to the sedan, and Clay and Amy walked over to the parking lot.

Neither said anything until they were in the car, and moving.

'What could this mean, Clay?' Amy asked.

'It means a lot of things.' He answered.

'Like….?' She prompted.

'Like whoever was threatening us found out where we were, and what we were doing, but had no one in the Middle East to do any harm. They didn't know, or care about where Claudia is, so they struck at Sarah, thinking that added pressure from all around me, you, Harm, AJ may just be enough to get me to quit.'

They were quiet for a few minutes, thinking this over, then Clay continued. 'It also means they are getting desperate, which could be a dangerous thing. Desperate people make mistakes, and they can do the unthinkable.'

Amy looked over at her husband, and realized again, how much she didn't know about him, or what he did in his work. She shivered, and it wasn't because of the air conditioning inside the car.

'What are you going to do?' she asked.

'I don't know yet. We'll see what has been done so far, see what the demands are, and go from there.' He said, never taking is eyes off the road.

They both were lost in their own thoughts. Neither would have been surprised to find out that they each were thinking this situation was rapidly getting out of control.

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, VA

1702 local time

When they arrived, the Admiral was in the bullpen talking to an ensign. As soon as he saw them exit the elevator, he called to Harm. 'Commander'.

'Admiral, what do you know? What is being done, Sir?' Harm asked excitedly.

'Let's all go into my office, I will fill you in.' the Admiral said.

They all filed inside, and were met by an older man, in a dark suit, and a dark expression on his face.

The Admiral made the introductions, 'Commander Rabb, this is Agent Fornell, FBI, he is in charge of the investigation.'

Harm skipped the pleasantries and started asking his questions. 'Agent Fornell, what can you tell me? What is going on?'

Fornell looked at Harm, then glanced at Clay, 'Agent Webb.' He said ignoring Harm for the moment.

'Agent Fornell.' Clay answered. 'Have we ever met before?' he asked.

The FBI agent smirked, it was as close to a smile as he ever got. 'No, but I know you by reputation.' He answered.

Clay wasn't sure this was a compliment or an insult, but he didn't have much time to think about it, as Harm began with his questio

'Will someone please start telling me what is being done to find my wife?' he demanded.

The Admiral began, trying to sound reassuring. 'This morning I received an email with a video attached showing the Colonel. She looks fine, Harm. There was a voice over the film making demands. Here, let me show you.'

He spun is computer screen around so they could all see it, and began the video. At first it showed only a metal door, and an electronically altered voice came over the speakers.

'Colonel Sarah Mackenzie Rabb is my special guest. She will stay with me until Clayton Webb returns to this country, and turns over all his information on the private investigation he has been conducting. He will be contacted within 12 hours of landing with instructions of where to bring everything. We know where you traveled, and who you talked to, Mr. Webb. You should have stayed home. You should never have involved Commander Rabb.'

The voice paused, and the camera was swung around showing a room with a bed, a chair, and a kitchen counter. Standing in the middle of the room was Sarah, looking just a little scared.

The voice continued. 'As you can see, Colonel Mackenzie is being well taken care of here. She is in comfortable surroundings, and has enough food for herself and her baby. We are not interested in harming her, but Mr. Webb must comply with our demand, and when we are satisfied he will end his investigation, Colonel Mackenzie will be returned unharmed. If we are not satisfied…well, you know.'

Then the voice addressed Sarah, 'Say Hello Colonel.'

Sarah's voice came over the speaker, unaltered, at least electronically. She sounded scared and tears brightened her big brown eyes. The camera focused closer on to her face. 'I'm fine Harm. I just want to go home.' Then the screen went black.

Everyone in the office looked away from the screen, and tried to find another focal point. Harm sank slowly into a chair, and his eyes never left the screen. His face was pale and he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

Finally he looked at Fornell, and anger brought some color back to his face. 'What is being done to find her?' he demanded in a low voice.

'Our lab techs have been taking this video apart since this morning. There is no background noise to help with a location, and the voice is altered as you can tell. I doubt you would recognize it anyway since the person seems to know Mr. Webb.' At this he looked across the room at Clay.

During the video, Amy heard Clay whisper to himself, 'I know that place.' When she looked over at him, he shook his head ever so slightly to indicate not to say anything about it right now. He looked a little confused, as if he was trying to remember something. She didn't say anything, but felt like she was holding back an important piece that could help her best friend.

Now, everyone looked over at Clay expectantly. Fornell continued, 'Do you recognize the voice at all Webb?' he asked.

'How could I? You said yourself it is electronically altered.' He really didn't recognize it, and it would take some work to adjust the voice to a normal tone to try and make an identification from it.

'Just checking.' Fornell answered. 'What is the investigation you are working on and why would someone go to this extreme to make you stop?'

'It's personal.' Clay answered flatly. This answer surprised Amy. How could Clay be so cold to keep this information from the FBI when Sarah was in danger?

Fornell was not interested in playing games. 'It's not personal anymore Webb. It is now part of a Federal kidnapping investigation, and if you withhold information, I will hold you myself until we get what we need.' He said threateningly.

Clay looked around the room, and saw many faces that would help Fornell carry out this threat. He finally said, 'I'm trying to find out how my father died in a foreign country while on a mission 25 years ago. It has been kept secret all this time by the CIA.'

'That's it?' Fornell asked.

'I have more information, and three people know it, my wife, Harm and myself. As I have uncovered more facts, the threats to our lives have increased. Someone, and I am beginning to think a few someones, rather high up in CIA, maybe even FBI and the Government could be hurt by what I uncover and therefore are trying to stop me. Sarah has none of this information, so in that respect she is safe, there is nothing she can tell them about how far I have gotten in my investigation.'

'Give me names Webb.' Fornell demanded.

'I don't have any, but they don't know that!' Clay shouted back.

'What have you uncovered so far? What are they trying to hide?' Fornell was beginning to make this an interrogation. He was asking the questions that were on everyone else's mind.

'If I told you that, I would be putting you all at risk. Three people know, and that is enough for now. The three of us are not safe right now, and as time goes by, the risk grows.'

'Then let's you and I go have a talk somewhere and you can at least fill me in.' Fornell suggested rather strongly.

'No, not yet.' Clay answered. 'Let me go home and put everything together. Let me work it out and see if I can come up with some possible names.'

'If you have information my agents can use to find Colonel Mackenzie…' Fornell started but Clay cut him off. 'Not yet I don't. Give me some time.'

Then Clay looked at Harm, who was drawn between pleading with Clay for the information, and beating it out of him. The look in his eyes almost made Clay relent. He said, 'I'm sorry Harm. I will find out who is holding her and get her out. I promise.'

One little part of Harm's mind that was still working and not consumed with worry over his wife and child, understood Clay's request. He didn't want to put anyone else in danger. Clay was right all three of them were in danger now. He would give anything to trade places with Sarah, and know she was safe, but there was nothing he could do right now. He couldn't trust his voice, so he only nodded his consent to give Clay some time.

Fornell sighed, and looked at the Admiral, who shook his head. AJ knew there was no ordering Webb to do anything. Their hands were tied.

Fornell gave in, but he didn't like it, 'All right, Webb. I will give you a few hours. I will keep the investigation going. If you find anything…'

'I will call you immediately.' Clay said. Fornell handed him his business card with phone numbers. Then Fornell said, 'And if you are contacted directly by the kidnapper, I want to know that too. I'll have agents follow you home to set up equipment to trace a call just in case.'

Clay didn't like that idea, but nodded his consent. He knew he had to give them something to work with to buy himself some time to go over his information again.

Fornell turned to Harm. 'Commander, I will have agents escort you home also. I'm afraid all we can do right now is wait to be contacted again, but we will still work on what we have. We'll find her Commander. She's in no immediate danger right now.'

It was small comfort, and everyone knew it. Harm got up slowly and turned to leave the office. He looked once more at Clay. 'Work fast.' Was all he said.

'We'll find her. I promise.' Then everyone exited the Admiral's office quietly.

Webb's car

On the way to their home

1817 local time

Clay and Amy were quiet in the car going home, but Amy wasn't content to let Clay be alone with his thoughts. 'What did you mean in the office about recognizing the place where Sarah was being held?'

Clay glanced at his wife, then turned his attention back to the road. 'Just that it seemed familiar somehow. I don't know for sure. I am trying to remember where I might have seen it.'

'It looked like an old basement to me.' Amy said. 'Which would account for no background noise.'

Clay just responded with a 'Hmmm.' and a nod and concentrated on driving.

After another moment of silence, Amy broke in on her husband's thoughts again. 'What are you going to do?'

'I'm going to go back home, and pour over all the notes I have about my father, and see if there is anything that fills in the blanks. Names of people he had contact with that keep coming up… I don't know. I just have to look and hope I find something.' He finished on a frustrated note.

'Can I help?' Amy offered.

'I wish you could, but I don't know how. I don't even know what I am looking for.'

Webb Residence

Alexandria, VA

1847 local time

When they arrived home, Clay got right down to work in his home office. He pulled out everything he had collected over the years on his father's last mission, and began going over it with a fine toothcomb, writing notes as he went along.

Amy made them both something to eat, and kept the coffee coming for him. She stood by while the FBI agents arranged the phone tap to their line, just incase the kidnapper called, and watched as they set up their surveillance from a truck outside. She was glad they didn't have to stay in the house. After a couple of hours, the jet lag caught up to her, and reluctantly, with Clay's urging she went up to bed. Clay kept working into the night.

After hours of reading his notes, and trying to make connections that weren't really there, the words started jumping around on the page, and his notes were not making any sense anymore. He hated the weakness, but realized he would be of no use to anyone, if he didn't get some rest. He turned out the lights, and made his way slowly up to bed.

Amy was sound asleep, and it gave Clay some comfort to watch her. She seemed so peaceful. He lay down beside her, and fell instantly asleep, but it was not restful.

He dreamed of Sarah, the way she was in Paraguay with the fake pregnancy. Sarah on Sadek's table with the battery, but she wasn't crying, she just looked at him with her big brown eyes, the way she had in the video, and said, 'I want to go home.'

Then he saw the room again, where Sarah was being held, and everything looked bigger. The bed was bigger, and the countertop was higher, and his mother was there, and she looked at him and said, 'I want to go home.' Then she turned and left him there, and he was the one calling, 'I want to go home. Please, Mother, I want to go home! Mother!' but she kept walking away from him, leaving him alone in the room. Clay kept calling, 'Mother! Mother!'

Amy woke up beside Clay, hearing him call out for his mother. She had been with him through nightmares before, but he had never called out for his mother in them. 'Clay, wake up. You are home. Clay, please wake up, it's Amy, Clay. You are home.'

She shook her husband, and his eyes opened wide, looking at her without recognition at first. Then he looked around the room, and took a deep breath and relaxed.

'Clay, are you all right, honey? It was just a dream.' Amy said.

Clay wiped a hand across his face. 'Oh my God.' He said.

'What is it?' his wife asked.

'Oh no.' was all he said, then looked at her. 'I know where Sarah is. I have to call my Mother.' And he jumped out of bed, left the room and headed downstairs.

Amy wasn't sure she was awake, and had heard him correctly. 'You have to call your Mother?' she asked the empty room. Then she got out of bed and followed Clay downstairs. She found him in the office.

'Clay, it is three o'clock in the morning. I'm sure your Mother would not appreciate a call at this hour.'

'I have to call her. She knows where it is.' He said as he dialed the number to his Mother's home.

'She knows where Sarah is being held? How can that be?' Amy said, more confused than ever.

'It's a long story.' Clay said as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. 'Call Harm from the cell and get him over here. Then call Fornell and tell him…' Then he stopped as the phone was answered on the other end. 'Hello, this is Clayton Webb. I need to talk to my mother right away.' Then he paused and nodded his head, 'Yes, I know what time it is; I have to talk to her. It is an emergency. Go wake her up.' As the staff member at his mother's house went to wake up their employer, Clay looked up at Amy again. 'Get me road map to Virginia first.'

Amy left the room, found a map and brought it back to Clay. Then she went to the kitchen and took out her cell phone and began calling Harm and FBI Agent Fornell. Both men had a lot of questions, which Amy could not answer. She just told them Clay thought he knew where Sarah was being held, and they both should get over to their house as soon as possible.

_Chapter 9 coming soon, I promise. This chapter was long enough, and this was a good place to stop. Sorry about another cliff hanger. (I'm not really, but you know….) CV And yes, I borrowed Agent Fornell from NCIS._


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry this had taken so long, but it should rap things up in a nice little bow. It may be a bit disjointed, but I wanted to finish it and get it posted. Thanks for waiting! CV.

Chapter 9

Webb Residence

Alexandria, VA

0358 local time

After getting directions from Porter, Clay went upstairs to change clothes. Amy soon joined him.

'Want to tell me what's going on?' she asked her husband.

Fornell and Harm had both been called and were on their way. Clay stopped for a moment from dressing, and sat down on the bed. Amy sat down beside him.

'I recognized the room that was in the video, where Sarah is being held.' He said.

Amy nodded, and Clay continued. 'I spent time in that room too, as a child. The house belonged to a friend of my parents, and we used to go and visit him there. Sometimes spent a weekend there. Once, my parents even left me there in his care, when they went out of town to be alone for a while.'

He paused, remembering how he had felt that weekend. 'I hated it there. I was lonely there. There were no other children around, and I usually ended up playing by myself in that basement.'

Clay looked at Amy, 'My parents friend was good to me, but he didn't have any kids of his own, and was a little lost over what to do with me. He enjoyed fishing, and thought he would teach me, but I wasn't interested. I never had the patience for it.'

'Clay, there could be hundreds of old houses around here that look like that basement. Are you sure she is there?' Amy asked.

'I'm sure.' He said emphatically.

'Who was this friend? Could he be mixed up in this?' she asked.

'No.' Clay answered. At least he hoped with all his heart that he wasn't involved in any of it.

'But Clay…' Amy began, but he wouldn't let her finish. 'Amy, I don't even know if he still owns the place. I don't want to say anything until I know for sure.' With that, hoping to end the discussion, Clay stood up and finished his preparations. He took out is revolver from the dresser drawer, and began loading the clip.

Amy stayed seated and watched Clay. 'Nice story, do you really expect me to believe it?' she asked.

Clay looked over at her sly smile, and cocked eyebrow. 'It's the truth.' He answered.

'Only about half I think.' She said.

If I can't even convince Amy how will I convince Fornell, or Harm? Clay thought. 'Amy, it is the truth, just not all of it. When I know all of it, I'll tell you.' He paused again, and made a confession, as much to himself as to her. 'I'm afraid of what I'm going to find out there.' He whispered. Then moved over to Amy as he saw the concern in her eyes. 'Not about Sarah, somehow I know she is safe. I just…What I find out tonight will answer all the questions I've had for 25 years, and suddenly I'm afraid of the answers. But we have to get Sarah, and the rest…I will deal with it when it comes.'

He took her hands in his, and looked at them, such capable, loving hands. 'What do I have to say to make you stay home tonight?' he asked, looking up into her eyes.

Amy saw his concern, and fear and love all reflected in his eyes. 'Please.' She answered. She wanted more than anything to be with him and Harm in finding Sarah. But this time, he really needed to do it on his own.

'Please then. Stay here, stay safe. I don't know who or how many men may be there around Sarah, and I know you could kick any one's butt that you would come across, but stay here for me.'

'All right. For you.' He kissed her then, to say thank you, and to say good-bye.

He stood up and moved to the door. 'Be careful.' She said to him as he moved through the threshold. He looked back at her once more, memorizing her face. 'I love you.' He said, and closed the door behind him.

'I love you too Clayton.' Amy whispered to no one.

Within half an hour, Harm had made it to their home. He probably ran every red light, and broke all the speed limits on the way, but he didn't really remember, and didn't really care. He hadn't slept much, or eaten anything in the last 14 hours, and he didn't care about that either. All he cared about was that Sarah was gone, and he couldn't get to her. Her face and her voice from the video was all he saw and heard, and he had to find her. If Clay knew where she was, than let's move right now, and don't anyone stand in my way he thought.

He wanted to leave with Clay as soon as he arrived, but Clay saw what condition his friend was in, and knew he had to calm down or he could jeopardize the whole operation. Clay called Amy downstairs as soon as Harm came inside, and she was able to talk to him, and try and get him to go with her to the kitchen. She said she was hungry and was going to make herself and Clay something to eat. Harm reluctantly followed and she was able to get him to sit down and talk a little, while feeding him a sandwich.

Clay filled in the FBI agents that were outside their house, and they took a copy of the map and location of the house in Virginia to start making plans. No one would move until Fornell arrived anyway.

He wasn't long in coming. He came right into the house and started asking Clay questions. 'So where is this house?'

Clay showed him the map, and explained it would take about 90 minutes to get there from Alexandria.

'What is the lay out of house? Are there any fences or trees around? How close is the nearest neighbor?' Fornell needed details to form a plan for his team.

'I haven't been to the house in more than 35 years Fornell. I think there were some bushes up against the house back then, but I couldn't tell you if they were still there or not. There were trees around too, but again, a lot can change in that time. There is access to a small lake in the back of the house. There were usually some small boats tied up along the shore.'

'We will have to cover the back too then.' Fornell thought, already preparing how to deploy his team. He pulled one of the copies Clay had printed out, and prepared to go outside to talk to his agents. Harm had come into the office while they were talking, and was interested in what the plan was.

'Fornell what is your plan? What do you want me to do?' Harm asked.

'I want you to stay here.' Fornell answered in his best commander voice.

'If my wife is there, I'm going to be there.' Harm insisted.

'Rabb, the last thing I need is an irate, worried husband on this operation.' Fornell answered.

'I'll go with Harm. Keep him in the back.' Clay suggested.

'Who said you were going along?' Fornell asked surprised.

'If the Colonel is there, and if my parents' friend is there, I want to be in on it. It was my lead that broke this case open for you, and my fault she is being held in the first place.' Clay insisted.

Fornell didn't have time to argue with either of them. Against his better judgment, he thought he better let them come along. 'Fine, you can come. But you stay in the back, and out of our way.'

'Understood.' Both Harm and Clay answered.

'My team will be assembled and ready to leave in 30 minutes.' And with that Fornell turned to go outside to brief his agents.

Clay called his attention back. 'Since Harm and I are ready, we will go on ahead and scope out the area for you. When you arrive, we can tell you what cover there is, and maybe how many people we will be dealing with.' Clay said helpfully.

Fornell didn't like this idea either; he didn't trust Webb or Rabb. He felt they were both cowboys, too ready to do things their way. But it wasn't a bad idea either. The FBI agents could work faster once they arrived, if they knew right away what they were up against. In the long run it would be safer for everyone involved, even the hostage.

'All right.' Fornell agreed reluctantly. 'But stay out of sight, and don't do anything until we get there. This is an FBI operation, not CIA or' with a glance at Harm, 'a JAG op either.' He said.

Both Harm and Clay nodded and said, 'All right' or 'OK'.

Thinking he had successfully gotten his point across, he went outside.

Harm and Clay moved toward the door, and slipped on their dark windbreakers. Harm asked Clay, 'Did you really mean what you said, that you wouldn't do anything until the FBI got there?'

Clay looked up at his friend with a smile. 'No.'

Harm was glad to hear it. He had not intended to wait around for anyone else to go and find Sarah; he would do that himself, as he had always done. But it did surprise him. 'But you gave your word.'

Clay was surprised at this. 'Did you hear me say I promise? No. She's your wife, and my friend. We will go find her ourselves.' He slipped his gun in his coat pocket and walked to the door.

Harm followed, shaking his head at his friend. He was glad to be moving, doing something positive for Sarah finally. But he asked Clay, 'How do you live with yourself sometimes?'

'Just fine.' Came the answer from the smiling CIA agent. They climbed into the car, and were on their way.

A Farmhouse in Rural Virginia

0617 local time

Clay followed the directions Porter had given him. He was surprised at how many of the roads and houses looked familiar to him. Not too much had changed up here.

They approached the house, and drove slowly passed it, getting their first look at the lay out. A couple trees were bigger than Clay remembered, and one big one was gone. He parked the car down the road, and he and Harm discussed the best approach to the house. They decided to stick close to each other until they knew how many other people they may be facing. There was a group of trees, still in shadow as the sun slowly climbed over the horizon. They made their way quietly through there, and stopped on the edge of the yard.

They watched the house in silence for a moment, trying to control the adrenaline rush before they dashed toward the building.

'I don't see anyone moving around.' Harm said under his breath. 'Wouldn't you think there would be some sentry, or someone around?'

Clay stayed quiet. To see no one else around did not surprise him, but he did not want to go into it with Harm right now.

Instead, Clay gave Harm some directions. 'Try the front door. If it isn't open, break one of the windows on either side, and get in that way. Across from the front door is a stairway going upstairs. Go around to the back to the kitchen, just under the stairwell is a door leading to the basement. Check that first. Sarah is probably still down there.'

Seeing no one around, scared Harm, but he worked hard to keep his mind on the task at hand. No guards around could mean there was no one, or nothing to guard anymore. What if Sarah was dead already? What if she had been killed once the video was delivered? They wouldn't need her after that, would they? Pushing these thoughts aside, and concentrating on the hope that she was indeed still in the basement, he looked at Clay, and nodded that he understood what he had to do.

'I'll go around the back first and check that out, take anyone out if I need to. Give me a count of twenty, then move up to the house.' Clay instructed him.

Harm swallowed past the lump in his throat and answered, 'OK.'

Clay gave him an encouraging smile, then moved off toward the back of the house.

Harm counted slowly to twenty, straining his ears for any activity coming from the back of house. It was longest twenty seconds of his life.

When he reached the end, he took a deep breath, and then checking one last time for any movement, he too off for the front porch. He quietly moved the doorknob, and found that it was unlocked. With one last look around, he stepped inside the semi-dark house.

The floors were old wood, and creaked with every step he took. The sounds seemed to echo all over the quiet house, but Harm could hear no one else moving around. It was a safe bet that if the floors creaked under him, he would be able to know if anyone was coming up behind him.

He found the lay out of the house as Clay had described it, and found the old wooden door that led downstairs to the basement. At the bottom of the stairs was the large metal door he had seen in the video, and his nightmares over the past few hours.

There was latch, with a padlock on it. For a moment, Harm was concerned he would have use his weapon to shoot the lock open, and attract unwanted attention. But when he reached out to examine the lock, it was only linked in the latch, and not closed. He quickly twisted the lock, threw it to the floor, and pushed the door open.

The basement was even darker than the house upstairs. There were no windows nearby to let in any natural light. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, when he heard a sleepy voice in front of him, and to the right.

'Uncle?'

'Sarah?' Harm answered.

'Harm, is that you?'

Harm heard some fumbling, then a small lamp was turned on, and there she was. Sleepy, disheveled, and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

'Sarah.' He whispered on his pent up breath, and moved swiftly over the small bed to take her in his arms.

In the next minute, they were both crying, and talking at the same time.

'Are you all right?' he asked.

'How did you find me?' she asked.

'Clay knew where you were from the video.' Harm answered.

'I'm fine. Really.' She answered.

They smiled at each other again, and embraced once more.

After a kiss had reassured them both the moment was real, Sarah asked, 'Clay knew where I was? How would he know that?'

Harm shook his head. 'I don't know, and right now I really don't care. I'm just glad you are safe now. But we have to get out of here.' He got up and grabbed her clothes that were on the chair and helped her to dress quickly.

'How many men are here Sarah, do you know?' Harm asked, wanting to get an idea of who might be around.

'I don't know really, I have only seen one older man who called himself Uncle.' She answered. 'He has been good to me Harm. He treated me very well, aside from taking me from home and keeping me in this basement. I want to make a statement to that effect. I don't think this was his idea, I think he was taking orders from someone else.'

Harm looked at her, trying to understand her logic. He still wanted to kill whomever it was that had taken her, and do it very slowly with his own hands, but he did think that she looked good. The room was comfortable, and she had all she needed. It could have been a lot worse.

'We'll talk about that later.' He said. 'Right now, lets get out of here.' With that they climbed the stairs together, and started walking to the front door and freedom.

Meanwhile, outside the back of the house, Clay was still slowly checking the area for any sign of people around, not really expecting any. Soon the whirl of a boat motor caught his attention, and a small red fishing boat, that had seen better days, was coming up to the small dock at the edge of the yard.

Inside the boat, as expected and feared, sat Martin Armbruster, his father's former partner.

Clay stayed where he was, not sure what he was going to say. His heart tightened in his chest, and felt like he wanted to hit Marty into next week, and sit down and cry at the same time. He just stood in the yard, and waited for Marty to tie up the boat, and walk up the dock to the yard, a tackle box and fishing rod in one hand, and a string of fish in the other.

Once Marty got passed the trees, he saw Clay. He paused a moment, then kept walking toward him. Marty broke the silence first. 'Clay. I knew you would come.' He said, almost sounding relieved.

'Why?' was all Clay could push passed his dry mouth.

'I was following orders.' Marty said as if that was obvious. 'I still know how to do that.'

Clay just stared at him, not sure what to say next. His skin was crawling, and he was at a loss as to what to say to the man he had known all his life. Or thought he had known.

'Clay, I wouldn't have hurt her. No matter what they told me. She is fine. She's downstairs, in your old room. Have you seen her?' Marty said.

Clay just shook his head.

'I'm sorry Clay, really. But I had to do it. I brought her here, knowing you would find us, and put an end to all of this. It is time it came to an end I guess.' Marty thought out loud.

'You know, this is partly your fault.' He looked Clay right in the face, trying to sound like a parent talking to a child to make them take responsibility for their own actions. 'I told you to stop looking. I told you to leave the past alone. Digging up the truth doesn't serve anyone Clay.' He said reprovingly.

Clay was beginning to agree with him. Digging up the truth was breaking his heart. 'We need to talk Marty.' He said.

'Right.' Marty answered with a smile. 'I'll just clean these up, and we can have some breakfast.' Marty said as if they were old friends again, and would spend the day eating fresh fish and reminiscing over coffee.

'No Marty. We will talk later. Just you and me. It is really over now.' Clay said quietly, trying to soften the fact that Marty was now going to pay for all he had done.

Marty understood, and nodded, looking down at his fish. 'Can I still just clean these up? Maybe I can still eat them quick before I have to go.' He said.

Clay was beginning to hear movement at the front of the house. Car doors were slamming, and men were talking. Then he heard a house door slam.

'Who's that?' Marty asked.

'The FBI I suppose.' Clay answered. 'Kidnapping is a Federal offense.'

Marty smiled, 'Yeah, I guess it is. What should I tell them?' he asked, and Clay shrugged. 'I will give them names, activities, contacts, everything. I am not going down alone.' Marty insisted.

'That will be fine, Marty.' Clay said.

Marty moved over to a small fish hut on the edge of the yard, and Clay walked around to the front of house. There he saw a very relieved Harm, with his arm tightly around his wife, who looked just fine. He had time for a quick smile at the sight, before his attention was rudely interrupted.

'Webb! I want an explanation!' shouted Agent Fornell from the road in front of the house. He stomped over to Clay with fire in his eyes. 'You told me you would wait until we got here. This was an FBI operation…'

But he didn't get a chance to continue. Clay interrupted him. 'There was not operation Fornell. There is only one man here, and he was out fishing. Rabb went downstairs and got his wife out without incident, and the suspect is out back.'

'Is he dead?' Fornell asked.

'No. He is in the hut back there, cleaning a string of fish.' Clay answered. Then he turned and was going over to talk to Harm and Sarah. Fornell grabbed his arm and turned him back first.

'Cleaning fish? And you just left him there alone? What is going on here Webb?' he demanded.

'Nothing Fornell. The suspect is expecting you, and he is not going anywhere. The hostage is free and doing well from what I can see. You and your team can collect all the evidence you want. I'm done here.' Clay said, and continued moving over to his friends.

'I'll want a full report Webb, on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. Or I will hound you everyday until this is finished.

Clay didn't even look back at Fornell, dismissing the order for a report and the agent with one wave of his hand.

'Sarah.' He said, and opened his arms to give her a friendly hug.

'Thank you Clay.' She said, then pulled a little away to look at him. 'Harm said you knew where to find me. How did you know?'

'I just did. Are you ok?' he asked, not wanting to linger on her question.

'Yes, I'm fine. I want to make a statement to the agents that I was treated well, and I want that considered in the charges and sentencing of this man.

'Well, you don't have to do that right now. Let's go home.' Clay suggested.

Sarah smiled at that, and the three of them walked passed the team of agents as they prepared to investigate the house and collect evidence. As he passed the van, where Fornell was giving orders he called, 'Let the guy eat his fish while you go through the house Fornell. It is the least you could do.'

The only answer he got was a livid stare.

A couple weeks later

Federal Prison

Interrogation Room 7

1416 local time

Clay entered the interrogation room and sat down across the table from Marty. He didn't say anything, and never took his eyes off the man. He felt strangely calm, remote, as if he was interrogating a stranger, not a man he had known his whole life. On second thought, he really had not known this man his whole life, and he was a stranger to Clay.

Marty watched him sit down, careful to keep any expression from his face. He didn't know what to expect.

'I want to know what happened to my father Marty.' Clay said simply.

Marty glanced at the camera in the corner of the room. 'The camera's off, and there is no one in the observation room. This is between you and me.' Clay stated.

Marty swallowed and looked back at Clay. 'I gave my statement to the Feds.' Marty said.

'I know, I read it.' Clay answered. 'It doesn't answer everything for me.'

'I guess it is poetic justice that I should make my confession to Neville Webb's son.' Marty said, and smiled to himself. 'How much do you know?' he asked.

'Most of it.' Clay answered. 'But start at the beginning.'

Marty looked him in the face, and began. 'We were in Tehran when the Shah fell. We worked on getting westerners out of the country. There were a lot of them in Iran at the time; corporations' employees and their families, agents, Embassy personal. We worked with…I don't know how many European consulates to get as many people out as we could, Mexico and Canada too. We did pretty well. We started evacuating the US Embassy. We saw the threat, but couldn't really believe they would take it over. Well, we were wrong.'

'We were there when they took over the Embassy. Your father seemed to take it personally that Americans would be held hostage. We worked with the students to get the women out, and a couple of the older men out. That helped us later on, the students knew us and sort of trusted us.'

Clay let him tell the story at his own speed, and didn't ask any questions. It was always better to let the person just get everything out their own way. Marty wasn't going anywhere; he could always be reached later, if Clay had further questions. Clay was true to his word, this wasn't being recorded, and he took no notes. He didn't need any. He doubted he would ever forget anything Marty told him now.

'The whole episode was an embarrassment to the US. It was shameful; we got caught with our pants down. The whole country was being held hostage and we couldn't do anything about it!' His voice was growing louder with the remembered frustration.

'Your father and I came back home, and started working on plans to try and get the hostages out. We worked on negotiations, anything that could help. I don't remember how many trips we made back and forth that winter.' Marty said shaking his head at the memory.

'We even helped the military plan for that rescue that fell apart in the desert. What a fiasco that was!' Marty said with some anger in his voice now. 'It just brought more embarrassment and shame to the country. We looked like idiots!'

Clay knew that what had happened to the rescue attempt was an accident, and maybe some poor planning. Marines died on that mission, giving their lives in an attempt to save other Americans. But Marty seemed to think otherwise.

'That's when they came to me. The group of Americans who were as sick and frustrated as many of us were at this mess. There seemed no end in sight. There were no plans, and the White House was sitting on its hands!'

'But this group, they had a plan, and the means to execute it, and they needed someone with contacts, and access. They asked me. They knew your father would never have gone for it. Your father always played by the rules, Clay. The problem was, there were no rules now. They had changed, but Neville didn't see that.'

Clay just let him continue. Arguing his father's stand at this point wouldn't help.

'They had money, and they needed someone to offer to sell arms to the students. They needed someone to broker the deal with the black market. It was a way to get the hostages out alive, and that was all any of us wanted.' He said almost pleadingly, using this as his excuse verifying that the ends justified the means.

Clay didn't say anything to accept or discredit this defense. He just kept looking back at Marty, waiting for him to continue. The men stared at each other, then Clay prompted him, 'But the deal didn't go through.'

'No' Marty said quietly. 'The money they gave me wasn't enough.'

'I know about the bank account, Marty.' Clay said, to be sure the man understood that Clay was well informed and wasn't going to let him get away with anything.

Marty looked at him a moment, then continued. 'All right. Yeah, I took some off the top. I was the one taking all the risks, making the deal, putting my neck on the line for this; and I deserved more.'

'But the deal fell through.' Clay prompted.

'Yeah, Mossari's men expected more arms, and the financiers found out about the bank account. They had followed their money very closely. They ordered me to fix it with the students, to still try and pull it off. I had to make them think someone else had done it.'

Both men looked at each other, and knew who the fall guy had been. Now Clay started to feel something. He had expected hate, or resentment toward this man who had been the reason for is father's death, but he felt only pity. Pity that Marty had been so weak, and his father had trusted him so much.

'I let the students take your father in and they held him a few days. Beat him up pretty bad. Neville knew nothing, he couldn't tell them anything. Finally they called me to try and talk to him.'

'What happened then?' Clay asked.

Marty looked away from Clay, lost in the story, lost in his memory. He was in another smaller room, many years ago.

Somewhere in Tehran

March 1980

One of the student guards opened the door, and pushed Marty inside. There was one bulb turned on in the middle of the ceiling, but the corners of the room were dark.

'Neville?' he called.

He heard a movement in one of the corners, and now that his eyes had become accustomed to the amount of light, he saw his partner, sitting on the floor in the corner. Marty moved to him and sat down beside him.

Weakly, Neville said 'Marty, is that you?'

'Yeah, its me partner.'

'They got you too?' Neville asked.

Marty nodded and answered truthfully for once, 'Yeah, a long time ago.'

Neville ignored the strange answer his partner gave him. 'They're asking me all kinds of questions about arms and money.' Neville's voice, if possible, was growing weaker. 'Do you know what they are talking about?'

Marty looked at his partner and his friend. The students had put him through the wringer the past few days, Neville looked terrible, but all of that would be over soon.

'Yes, I know.' Marty answered. 'We will get the hostages out, Neville. Alive, I promise you.' It looked like Neville was drifting to unconsciencness, and Marty poked him to keep him awake. 'Do you hear me? We will get them out.'

'How?' Neville asked. 'We can't even get ourselves out of here.' For the first time in their partnership, Marty heard the hopelessness in Neville's voice.

Marty pulled out his pistol and cocked it. 'You have a weapon?' Neville whispered. 'How?'

'Shhhh.' Marty said. 'I'm going to get you out of here.' And he placed the muzzle to Neville's head.

By sheer reflex, Neville turned away. 'What are you doing?' he demanded. With the one turn, the room spun around him, and all his bruises started throbbing again. He wasn't sure what was happening, or if he could fight anyone off, but he had to try.

Marty followed him. 'Neville, I'm sorry it has to be this way. I will look after Porter and Clayton for you. Make sure they know you died for your country.'

'Marty please!' Neville was begging. What was Marty doing? Why was this happening?

'Someone has to die, Neville. But the plan will still go through, and the hostages will be returned to the US. That's what you want, isn't it?' Marty asked.

Neville couldn't believe what was happening. Marty said he would get him out, would get the hostages out, and he had a gun. Slowly things were falling into place. Neville felt he would get out, but it would be in a box.

'Don't do it.' He pleaded. 'We are partners, Marty, how could you do this?'

'Neville we want the hostages freed, right? I've made a deal, but it is falling apart. The money they gave me wasn't enough, and they want their money back or some revenge. Someone has to die Neville, and right now, I have to live to get the deal back on track, sell them arms and get those Americans back home. I will be sure you are cleared of any charges back home. I will see to it that the report shows you died for your country, for the safety of those other Americans. I'm sorry Neville. You have been a good friend, and a great partner, but the time has come.'

Federal Prison

Interrogation Room 7

1440 local time

'I shot him. Twice, in the head.'

The room was silent.

Clay was looking at him, but seeing his father. Smiling at him as they played catch in the yard, or racing down the beach after him, calling him, 'Clayton…Clayton, I going to get you! HA HA' His father's voice echoed in his head as if he had just spoken his name in the room. Clay closed his eyes, and tried to breath again.

Of all the stories, of all the truths Clay had discovered about his father over the years, he never once dreamed… My God, he is sitting right across from me now, I could just reach over and grab his throat and squeeze. No. I'm not a cold-blooded killer. I'm not like him. Clay thought, Clay hoped.

Marty broke the silence, and into Clay's thoughts. 'I'm sorry.'

There was no remorse in his eyes, at least none that Clay could see. None he wanted to see. It couldn't be that easy.

'The deal fell through the students never got any arms. It was all for nothing. He died for nothing.' The words were screaming in Clay's mind, but they came out of his dry throat in a raspy whisper.

'It saved my life. And we did get the hostages out alive eventually. I did help with that.' Marty said, thinking that might be answer enough.

Had my father lived, he would have gotten them out too, Clay thought, but did not have the heart to argue the point now. Not with Martin Armbruster. He wasn't worth the time.

Clay felt like asking a few more questions, but then thought better of it. He knew the rest anyway. The body was found later, Marty identified it, isn't that ironic, and the ashes were sent home.

Suddenly Clay couldn't stand being in the same room with him any longer. He stood up, scraping the chair back with his legs. He turned toward the door when Marty stopped him.

'There's one more thing.'

Clay stopped, but wouldn't look around.

'Everyone was watching me after that; the Feds, the White House, the group who financed the deal. They have always been watching at one time or another. Here.'

Clay could hear something sliding across the table. He turned around, and saw a piece of paper on the edge of the table. He picked it up and saw that there were some numbers written on it.

'That is the account with the money I kept. I've moved it around a few times, just to shake off any investigators, but I couldn't pull anything out of it. With the interest over the years, it is quite a lot of money now. Do something with it. Do some good with it. I don't care what. I can't ever use it now, and I hate thinking it is just sitting there for some government to claim some day.'

Clay crushed the paper into a wad with his fist, and left the room.

Epilogue

A few weeks later

Webb Residence

Alexandria, VA

1214 local time

Clay was working in his home office with the news on as he finished up a few things before the guests arrived; just a few friends, the Rabbs, AJ and the Roberts over for a Sunday barbeque. He wasn't that good at the grill, but Amy had confidence in him.

She stepped into the room now. 'Are you still in here? Everyone will be here in a few minutes.' She chided him.

He smiled and made one last save to his file before he closed his computer. As he did so, Amy turned up the volume on the news. The anchorperson was talking over a video showing a distinguished man in a dark suit being lead to a dark, unmarked car.

'Further fall out from a kidnapping case in Virginia has now grown into a federal conspiracy that spans 25 years. Assistant CIA Director Richard Vermeer was taken into custody today on charges of espionage, arms trafficking and collaboration with terrorist groups. A man already in custody for kidnapping, espionage, and treason implicated him. That man's name is being withheld by the authorities for his safety, and for reasons of national security.'

Amy looked over at her husband. He had not told her everything that had happened with Martin Armbruster. All Clay had said was that all the questions he had about his father had been answered, and the man that had killed him, and had ordered him killed will pay for their crimes. His father's murder would never be listed as a charge, but they would be in jail the rest of their lives for all that they had done over the years, and that was enough.

She saw no reaction to this news story on Clay's face, but he had been paying close attention. He seemed content the last few days, after a period of…the only word she use to describe his mood had been mourning. She thought now that he knew all the answers, it must have been like Neville dying all over again. She was there for him, and tried to comfort him, but these things take time. He had spent a lot of time with Claudia, and this seemed to help immensely.

As Clay packed up his computer things into his briefcase, the story changed.

'And on a lighter note, a man in a business suit, showed up yesterday at an elementary school in one of the poorest neighborhoods in DC, with a plan brown envelope addressed to the school principal. After assuring the school staff that it was not a bomb, the man left.'

'When the envelope was opened, several bundles of large denomination bills were discovered. An unsigned note accompanied the bills, instructing the school, to use the money for a new computer lab, and to update, and resupply the school library.'

'The principal was quoted as saying he had never seen so much money in one place in his life, and was already checking on new computers. And he wishes to thank the man, whoever he was, for his donation. It will be used wisely.'

The anchorperson went on with chitchat about how great a story that is, and how it gives them hope for all mankind, etc. Amy clicked the TV off, as Clay came around the front of the desk and stopped in front of his wife, a small smile gliding across his face.

'You had some errand to run yesterday, didn't you?' she asked smugly.

Clay just shrugged.

'Computer lab and library huh?' she asked.

'My father never saw computers come into the public domain, but if he had, he would have been a techno geek.' Clay assured her.

'Ahuh,' Amy said. 'And the library part?'

'My father took me on many trips to the library. He loved to read and just walk around looking and marveling at all the books.'

Amy looked at the office, which included several large bookshelves, filled with books, many from Neville's own collection. It was a testimony to the father's and son's love of books.

Amy smiled up at her husband, and casually brushed at a lock of hair that fell over his forehead. 'You're cute, you know that?' and she placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

He smiled at her, and returned the peck with a more thorough kiss, with promises of more later. 'So are you.' He said. And they left the office, arm and arm to prepare for their party.

The End

_Don't know if there is more after this one. I have to see what other trouble I can make for Clay and Amy. Thanks for reading and reviewing and hanging in there between chapters! CV_


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